


Snape Meets the Addams Family

by jessicadamien



Category: Addams Family - All Media Types, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comedy, Drama & Romance, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-03 01:58:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 45,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11522145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessicadamien/pseuds/jessicadamien
Summary: All Severus wanted was a new life, away from the problems and pests of his past. His relatives, the Addams Family, offered it to him, but the best laid plans...





	1. The End and the Beginning

Chapter One  
The End and the Beginning

They had believed it. They’d all believed exactly what he’d practically hand-fed them. His fatal injuries, his soppy memories...his depleted, battered body. Snape tossed aside the _Daily Prophet_ , sneering at their gullibility. Sipping his whisky, he reminded himself to shake free of those familiar feelings of superiority. It would not do for the new him to be so supercilious. He would have to learn to appear humble, at least humble enough to avoid drawing attention to himself. And, if not for this gullibility of the masses, would his new life be possible?

Not likely.

He knew his time left in this world of magic was ticking away. Soon, those few intuitive and annoying witches and wizards would begin to probe at the unanswered questions they were sure to have even after all his careful planning. Now that the scourge of darkness had been destroyed by his own misbegotten Killing Curse--utterly, completely, successfully destroyed--those Gryffindor attention seekers would soon look for a new target over which to obsess. He had to leave now, before anyone came poking around, looking for more survivors.

He wrapped a scarf around his neck to hide the marks that would draw the wrong eyes to him. It was unfortunate, but the charm necessary to have rendered him impervious to Nagini’s attack only had so much power. The venom hadn’t poisoned him, and his jugular hadn’t been penetrated, but it had been necessary to allow the serpent to puncture him. He had known they were being watched.

That had all been part of the plan. He’d needed them to witness his execution. A simple Blood-Replenishing Potion and his own version of a flesh-suturing charm had taken care of the worst of it, but now he had those awful scars. Dittany could only do so much.

Rolling his eyes, he pulled the silver and green scarf from around his neck, tossing it aside for a black one. There--even better. He looked into the mirror, focusing on his reflection as he chanted the words to bring his Glamor to life. It wasn’t much of a change, but if he were seen, it wasn’t likely anyone would think he was the recently-deceased Severus Snape, former Hogwarts Headmaster and Potions Master-cum-Death Eater. They would just see another wandering survivor of the Battle of Hogwarts, and if his hair was still raven-black, lank and greasy, well...many could fit that description.

Maybe.

Frowning, he murmured a few more words and watched as his hair began to pull back from his face slightly, the grey starting in at the temples, the newly-shortened layers falling smoothly into place. After three tries, he gave up on shortening and widening his nose, but watched as his cheekbones became more pronounced, providing more of a balance.

It would have to do. At least his nose wouldn’t be the first thing noticed. He concentrated on his eyes, watching as the black orbs lightened to a brownish-green, and settled for that. Vanity got the best of him then, and he smiled as his teeth began to whiten and straighten out a bit and his eyebrows began to arch slightly.

There, that worked. Only if someone were to peer at him carefully, studying him, would they begin to see any marked resemblance to the wizard he once was. The one who would know him instantly had already agreed to keep his new identity a secret; Albus hadn’t approved of his decision, but hadn’t argued for long.

He tossed a few things he couldn’t bear to part with into a satchel, which he hitched over one shoulder, and he looked around, not allowing himself to change his decision never to return to these premises. He’d only been here for two weeks, and he was surprised that it now felt as if he were leaving home.

No. It wasn’t this decrepit cell in the rooming house he had considered home at all. It was Hogsmeade. It was its proximity to Hogwarts, which _had_ been his home all these tempestuous years. It was the knowledge that everything he’d held dear would very soon be no more than a memory, living only in his mind. He’d never be back here again.

Mentally shaking himself, he recognized the pang for what it was: fear that he would one day regret burning this particular bridge. He’d been poring over the news for the past fortnight, searching for news of who had survived, who had died, and he was relieved for those who had pulled through. He had mourned those who hadn’t. He accepted his culpability in the deaths and injuries of those for which he had been responsible, to any degree, for causing. Refusing to acknowledge that he would have liked to stick around long enough to see Hogwarts rebuilt, he forced one foot in front of the other, leaving the room, descending the rickety stairs, and settling his bill with the don’t-ask-don’t-tell landlady.

He watched her carefully as she sorted out his bill, but saw no tell-tale twitch, no curiosity in her dull eyes. She looked into his newly-lightened eyes as she handed him his change, and he couldn’t resist. He tipped her a wink, and she smiled and looked away. He knew she wouldn’t give his secret away. It was none of her business if Severus Snape had decided to disguise himself, and she was clearly a soul in the habit of minding her own business. He’d been sure of that two weeks ago, or he wouldn’t have stayed.

With the pioneer spirit lifting his heart a bit, he stepped out into the sunshine, the first time he’d seen the light of day since his ‘death’. Slipping on the dark glasses he was glad he’d had the foresight to purchase, he headed for the station.

Tobias Addams had been born.

 

“Harry, where were you just now?” Hermione asked. “I’ve been talking to the Quidditch pitch for the last ten minutes.”

Harry came back to his surroundings with a start. He and Hermione had been sitting quietly on Hogwarts’ grounds, soaking up the peace and misery of the school. “Sorry. I was just thinking about...”

Hermione’s face showed her concern. “Harry, it wasn’t your fault. You had more important things to do. You couldn’t have been everywhere at once.”

“But there was no one there for him,” he said, refusing to shake off his guilt. “No one should have to die all alone. No one cared.”

“Nonsense. Once we saw those memories, even those who hadn’t cared before saw how mistaken we all were. But he’s dead, Harry. We had to do what we could for those still alive.”

He knew she was right, but logic never seemed to ease the guilt. They’d all gone back to the Shrieking Shack as soon as they’d been able, but Snape’s body had been gone. There were no clues left behind, no way of knowing who might have retrieved it. For a brief moment, Harry’s heart had filled with hope. Could they have been mistaken? Had he really died?

But almost immediately, he’d remembered staring into Snape’s eyes as his life had left him. And no one, not even one who’d once claimed to be able to put a stopper in death, could have survived an attack by one of the deadliest vipers Harry had ever seen. He’d feared Nagini more than he’d feared the basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets.

No, Snape had died. But it continued to bother Harry that he hadn’t been given a proper funeral. Had he even been buried? Entombed? Cremated? The idea of the heroic but misunderstood wizard rotting away somewhere unknown was disturbing; it kept fresh the guilt-infested wound in Harry’s soul.

Even worse was the concept of someone using Snape’s cadaver in some sort of Dark Magic ritual. Harry had never felt it was a horrid idea to learn all about the Dark Arts. Knowing about such things didn’t necessarily mean practicing the spells and curses. And some of the things he’d learned made him bound and determined that no one should have access to the corpse of Severus Snape.

His Gryffindor heart knew he wouldn’t give up his quest to find out what had become of Snape. Dumbledore’s portrait had been no help; Albus had seemed more evasive than cryptic, and Harry was sure he was hiding something. Therefore, it stood to reason that Albus and Snape had worked out some sort of contingency plan, something that would take into account what would probably happen if and when Voldemort died.

Why keep such a secret, though? What would be the reason for Harry not to know where Snape’s body was now? Surely Albus didn’t believe Harry would allow any harm to come to it. And wouldn’t the old wizard wish for a decent burial for the wizard he’d thought of as his own son?

He looked at Hermione; her eyes were narrowed, looking into his, and he grinned apologetically. “I’m sorry, Hermione. My mind just won’t stop racing. I need about three months of uninterrupted sleep.”

“You do, you know,” she agreed. “There’s nothing left for you to do here. Most have taken their families back home, the Ministry has begun restoring the castle... Even the Malfoys have gone now.”

“Where did they go? I thought the Ministry confiscated their home.”

“Only until they finished going through it, looking for whatever it is they were looking for. By now, I think it’s been released to the Malfoys. They’re probably overworking their house-elves even as we speak.”

“I need to talk to Draco.”

“Whatever for?” she asked incredulously. “What could you possibly have to say to him? I expect they’re still trying to get their feet back on the ground. I mean, when you think about it, everything they’d always believed had been turned upside-down recently.”

“I don’t care, I have to talk to him. He may know a lot more about Snape than we thought.”

“I thought you were going to Dumbledore with your questions.”

“He hasn’t been any help. He’s hiding something, and he’s too crafty for me to get past his evasions.”

“And Draco isn’t?”

“Oh, come on, Hermione; Draco’s incapable of hiding his thoughts. And he and Snape were as thick as thieves.”

“Do you want me to come with you? When you see Draco, I mean?”

He smiled. He could always count on Hermione, even when she disagreed with whatever it was he wanted to do. She always believed she needed to hover, if only to protect him from his rash decisions.

“No, I don’t think so,” he answered softly. “You always get his defenses up too soon. Besides, you need to get your family back to their lives. They were a bit shell-shocked.” Hermione’s parents had been retrieved from their safe haven and their memories restored as soon as Voldemort’s corpse had been destroyed.

She grinned. “They’re made of stronger stuff than you think, Harry. Already, Mum has been helping everyone else settle back down. They’ve gone back home, but they’ve been communicating with McGonagall almost daily.”

“How?” Harry’s brow crinkled, trying to imagine McGonagall arranging the installation of telephone lines into the hidden castle.

“Who knows? I think McGonagall arranged some sort of owl post that keeps messages going back and forth. Anyway, my life is getting back to normal. I’m a bit worried about you, though.”

“Why are you worried about me?” he asked sardonically. “I’m the big hero, remember? I can pretty much take my pick from all those job offers, the Ministry has promised to pick up all tuition costs if I return to complete my NEWTs, and I still have that house Sirius left me. I have all sorts of options now.”

“Well, in all those options, do you have a bed? You’re about ready to drop.”

He laughed hollowly. “That’s where I’m headed now, Hermione. You can reach me at the old headquarters. Where are you going, by the way?”

“I’m going back home to spend some time with my folks for a while. I’ll be back here in September to take my seventh year. Ron will as well, you know. It’s the one argument his mum won.”

“Well, that’s alright then,” he said. “I’ll know how to get in touch with you.”

“Won’t you consider coming back, Harry? It’s only one more year. And now, thanks to you...” She looked around the grounds, obviously remembering all who had fought so valiantly in the battle. “...and everyone...you have your whole life ahead of you. You’ll still have all those options available after next year, you know. You don’t want to have come so far in your education, just to miss taking your NEWTs, do you?”

“It’s a decision I can’t possibly make while I’m so tired,” he said, putting her off. “I’ll let you know as soon as I know. In the meantime, I’m heading for Sirius’ house. My house, I mean...”

“Sleep well, Harry. If I don’t hear from you by the end of the week, I’m going to come looking for you.”

“I shall consider myself warned. Ron’s coming over tomorrow; why don’t you stop by as well? We’ll see if we can cook a chicken or something.”

He walked toward the gate after Hermione’s agreement, feeling, for the first time, the freedom he’d helped earn. He began running toward Hogsmeade station, hearing the train whistle blowing. He threw himself into a car just before the porters began slamming doors shut, and fell into a compartment as the train began to move. Next stop, London.

“Oh, sorry,” he mumbled to the man sitting across from him. “I hadn’t even bothered to see if this compartment was empty.”

“No matter,” came the answer.

Harry’s blood froze, and he looked more closely at the man. Unaware, the man continued to read his book, bringing it up close to his nose, apparently being short-sighted. Harry told himself to stop seeing ghosts everywhere he looked and turned his attention out the window. Though there were similar characteristics, he knew it was just his recent obsession with Snape that caused him to see the wizard in every stranger he met. He kept his eyes on the window, knowing that if he allowed it, he’d wind up staring at the probably easily-offended man across the way.

Many people looked like Snape, he tried to convince himself. Wizards probably all used the same barbers, had the same ideas about how to try to look Muggle, and his preoccupation with Snape was bound to play tricks with his eyes. He brushed it off, watching the scenery pass by.

But his eyes didn’t register the houses, far removed from the tracks. He didn’t notice when the town gave way to rolling hills and lush forests. He kept turning the two words the man had spoken over and over in his head. _No matter..._

How could two different people have the same voice?

 

Severus stared, unseeing, at the words on the page of the book he was using to screen his face from Potter. Was the world really so small that he had to share his compartment with the one wizard he couldn’t afford to meet now? Could it really be coincidence that Potter showed up just when Severus was so near to leaving this world behind?

Could Albus have tipped the boy off?

No. Impossible. Albus would have no motive to reveal to the world that Snape was still alive. There was no percentage in it. He thought back to the brief conversation he’d had with Albus’ portrait, just before all hell broke loose.

_“Severus, do you really have no idea of the people who will grieve your passing?”_

_“Those delusional few will get over it quickly enough.”_

_“You won’t be able to pull it off, anyway.”_

_“You underestimate my motives, Albus. The last thing I want is to continue my life in a world where, even if my stored memories would redeem me, I will always be known as your murderer, a Death Eater, and a spy. It would be worse than a sentence in Azkaban.”_

_“Opinions would be swayed once your memories are made public.”_

_“It leaves a wide margin for error, Albus. First, who would be there to gather my memories into the vial? If the meeting where I’m to be killed is only between the Dark Lord and myself, I rather doubt he’d be inclined to scoop up anything that drains from my body. If any of his followers are there, only Lucius might be inclined, but as his mind isn’t on anything but his own family’s welfare, I don’t value my chances.”_

_“I wish you would reconsider. This world isn’t so bad, is it? You have friends, Severus. It would do your soul good to realize that, especially if your plans fail and your death is imminent.”_

_“They are not friends, Albus; they’re acquaintances. And most would feel only relief at my passing.”_

_“There is just no persuading you, is there?”_

_“No, Albus. Just promise me you’ll keep this to yourself. No one can know, or all my efforts will be in vain. I need your promise._

_“Albus?_

_“Albus, I must insist. Surely, after everything I’ve done for you and for those we tried to protect, I deserve a better life, don’t you agree?”_

_“As I don’t see any other way of it, I suppose I must, Severus. I solemnly promise to do everything in my limited power to see that your new life is a happier one.”_

So, scratch Albus.

The landlady at his most recent quarters?

No. He’d seen in her eyes all the past experience she’d had with questionable characters who thought she might need physical incentive to mind her own business. She neither cared nor saw a profit in exposing him. She’d had the air of someone just wanting to be left alone to eke out her existence in peace. Therefore, he could cross her off his list of suspects.

Macnair?

The henchman knew, or at least was pretty sure, that Snape had survived. Snape had kept his ears tuned to the murmurs of the idle chat around him as he’d haunted the pubs, and he understood that Macnair had threatened to avenge his master’s death. Potter was his main target, of course, but he must have been within earshot when Potter had told Voldemort what he’d learned from the memories Snape had given him in the Shrieking Shack.

Macnair was notorious for holding a grudge. It must be killing him to know that he’d been swindled by Snape. Never mind that they all had been; Macnair was arrogant enough to feel that he alone should have seen through Snape’s duplicity. But he hadn’t; Snape was sure that, while many other Death Eaters may have had their doubts about his loyalties from time to time, Macnair had never had such reservations. But Snape was also certain that Macnair would die before revealing so much as the time of day to Potter. Ergo, even if Macnair suspected that Snape had survived, it wouldn’t explain Potter sitting across from him right now.

Lucius?

He’d sent his Patronus to Malfoy Manor five days after Voldemort’s death; he’d gotten no response. He’d purposely kept his message coded, so that only Lucius would understand it, and was disappointed and yes, hurt, that Lucius had not replied. He had expected at least confirmation of Macnair’s threats, and he was sure Lucius would understand the significance in the news stories that Snape’s body had not been recovered. Why had Lucius ignored him?

He focused on the book before his eyes, remembering to turn the page to further Potter’s belief that all was well, and tried to come up with a plausible reason to leave the compartment without making it appear he was trying to hide.


	2. Trains, Planes, and Addamses

Chapter Two  
Trains, Planes, and Addamses

Snape refused to allow himself to squirm under the surreptitious glances the annoying pest kept throwing his way. He could feel that his Glamor was still intact, and he buried his face in his book, pretending to be deeply engrossed in its pages. Knowing his first mistake had been neglecting to have closed the compartment door, he had no choice now but to share his compartment with the one wizard who might upset his new plans. If he left now, for no apparent reason, surely the Potter brat would become even more suspicious.

That his voice wouldn’t be disguised with the rest of him was something he hadn’t even considered as he’d cockily put on his new face. He was headed for America, and so his voice hadn’t been something he needed to worry about. He thought he might need to keep his new look, but how careful must he be around those with whom he spoke? The only way anyone would find him would be if he would, on some remote chance, be caught by a news camera, and then only if said news would be worthy enough to grace the tabloids of Britain. Seeing as how everyone thought him to be dead, they wouldn’t read the papers specifically to check on his adventures.

The one exception to that line of reasoning was now sitting across from him, fidgeting and clearing his throat occasionally. Snape refused to look up at him, worried that Potter was trying to find a way to break the silence between them. One thing he mustn’t do is chat. Even if he were to try and disguise his voice, the effort would be so transparent that all Potter’s suspicions would be met, and he could kiss his new life of anonymity good-bye.

Other people had been involved, either directly or indirectly, in helping him in this endeavor. Albus, who had sworn to keep his plans to himself; the tired and closed-mouthed wench at the rooming house, who’d seen first-hand during her many years of keeping the house how painful it could be to spread gossip. They would keep his secret.

And his family.

Well, as near to family as he’d ever have again, at any rate. As best he could tell, his mother’s cousin’s daughter had married the reigning patriarch of the Addams clan. But in a desert, one heads for any oasis. And Gomez Addams had been only too gracious in making arrangements for the wizard to come over. He’d personally wired Severus the Muggle funds necessary to tie up any loose ends he had and to travel across the pond in style. He would be met by someone in the family at the airport, then driven to the family home. He had a room waiting for him, and the promise of all the help he needed to start a new life. Few questions had been asked.

Wondering what catch there must be in this, he was dismayed to return to his present surroundings to find he had lowered his book from his face, and Potter was looking directly at him, his emerald eyes--those startling reminders of his only real childhood friend--peering intently into his own. He allowed an annoyed frown to cross his features, knowing that Potter wouldn’t see the Severus he’d known, and waited in icy silence for the Potter youth to lower his eyes.

“Sorry,” Potter said, smiling sheepishly. “Only you remind me so much of someone I knew. I didn’t mean to stare.”

Severus nodded curtly, hiding once more behind his book, hoping the tension of the moment was only his own paranoia. He heard Potter shifting in his seat.

“Forgive me, but do you live in Hogsmeade? Or had you come because of the battle?”

Sighing inwardly, Severus took a deep breath, stalling for time. Above all, he mustn’t speak, he couldn’t give Potter anything more than he’d already unthinkingly done. But surely, Potter would be used to rude strangers. If this forwardness was par for the course, he must have been rebuffed many times, and so wouldn’t draw any conclusions from it.

Having decided on a course of action, he peeked up from behind his book, arched an eyebrow, frowned, then ducked behind the book once again. He turned a page loudly, to get his point across and to uphold the myth that he was actually trying to read it.

Still, the relentless little mongrel refused to be stifled. “I asked because I’ve been at Hogwarts these past couple of weeks, and I know the people who are still there, still hoping their families find them. I thought perhaps that’s why you look so familiar to me. Maybe I know your family?”

_Clever, Potter, remarkably clever, considering your Gryffindor habit to tell the truth even when lies would be more useful._

But here was the excuse Severus needed. He stood suddenly, pulling his satchel over his shoulder. He glared at Potter, turned on his heel, and left the compartment, heading down the aisle to find one that had enough room for him, but not Potter. Just in case the whelp was pushy enough to actually follow him.

Nodding an apology and what might have passed for a silent introduction, he found the perfect compartment and stared out the window, letting his mind forge ahead to the future.

 

Harry willed his heart to stop hammering in his chest. It had to be wishful thinking. Many wizards would have the same arrogant and lofty manner, especially in the face of his youthful rudeness. Many folks, wizards and Muggles alike, would be short-sighted enough to have to practically inhale the pages of whatever book they read.

But how many would have the same deep baritone?

It had only been two words, he reasoned. Could he have recognized _anyone’s_ voice from a mere two words? Surely his imagination had been running away with him.

Like the man had run away at those questions?

Ridiculous. The wizard had given no indication at all that he was willing to socialize, and had given a couple of very broad hints that he was, in fact, _opposed_ to socializing. Of course he’d left when Harry pursued his questioning. Wouldn’t anyone?

And he had seemed annoyed, hadn’t he? Harry should probably consider himself fortunate not to have been hexed. The man probably wasn’t a wizard anyway. His clothing had looked like authentic Muggle clothing, not the strange materials and styles wizards tended to wear when they were trying to pass, but didn’t quite know how.

But then what would he have been doing in Hogsmeade to begin with? Muggles didn’t even see the town. It was camouflaged in the same way Hogwarts was. So, yes, he had to have been a wizard, most likely a wizard who was very familiar with Muggles. Perhaps a half-blood? A Muggle-born?

And Harry couldn’t expect to know every single wizard in Hogsmeade, even with the thorough searching he’d done since the battle. There were still many wizards and witches coming and going, living their lives, oblivious to the turmoil in Harry.

His eyes caught something white against the dark background of the seat in front of him, and he focused on it. Reaching out for it, he glanced quickly to the corridor to see if the wizard was returning to retrieve it. It was only the sweets trolley passing, asking if anyone wanted to partake. He quickly read over the papers in his hand. He’d never traveled by plane before, but he knew he was looking at airline tickets. The mysterious wizard was to board a plane at Heathrow, fly to New York, transfer to a second plane which would take him to California, and he’d be coming back to pick up his ticket as soon as he realized he’d lost it. Committing the flight information to memory, he replaced the ticket on the seat opposite and dug into his pocket for his wand.

Transfiguring the Muggle pound note in his wallet to a bit of parchment, and a condom he worried he’d never use to an inked quill, he quickly wrote down the numbers and times. He folded the parchment and stuffed it back into his wallet, returned the quill to its condom state, and slipped the wallet under his leg. He was stuffing his wand back into his pocket as he felt the presence of the wizard just outside the compartment. Glancing up, he saw the stranger’s hazel eyes riveted on the ticket. When the eyes flicked over to his, he raised his own eyebrows up in question.

“Yes?” Willing the wizard to talk, he kept his eyes connected with the other’s.

The hazel eyes narrowed, and the wizard came into the compartment, snatched the ticket from the seat, and left once more. Harry watched as he tucked the ticket into an inside pocket of his coat and headed back down the corridor. This time, he crept to the door and peered around, making a note of the compartment the wizard entered. He couldn’t shake off the feeling that he needed to keep an eye on this wizard, whose very presence felt so familiar to him. No two people had the same walk, no two people had the same voice.

He slowly ventured down the corridor, empty now that the trolley had gone past. Just before the other compartment, he emptied his pockets, and watched all the bits and pieces of worthless trinkets fall to the floor. Stooping to pick them up, one small piece at a time, he listened in on the conversation going on in the compartment ahead of him. There seemed to be two different chats happening, and he strained to hear the stranger’s voice.

There! One more word spoken. Without knowing ahead of time when a reply would be coming, it was difficult to pin it down, difficult to prolong that flash of familiarity. Still, it was interesting to note that the stranger was indeed socializing.

So, it was just Harry he had trouble conversing with? Fascinating.

He finished picking up his junk, stuffing it all back into his pocket, and returned to his compartment. Frowning, he dug once more into his pocket, pulling out the Scarab he’d bought from George last week. Smiling, he made plans to be right behind the stranger as he left the train. Close enough to place the Scarab on the hem of his coat.

Looking out the window at the setting sun, he allowed the quiet rumble of the train to soothe him into a much-needed slumber, his dreams taking him back to the battle, and to the Shrieking Shack.

 

“Is everything ready, Gomez?” Morticia asked her husband. “Will Tobias feel welcome?”

“I fail to see how he wouldn’t, _querida,”_ he answered. “We pulled out all stops. Lurch has been working all day to prepare his rooms.”

“But why are we giving him the rooms farthest from the rest of us?”

“I cannot answer, _cara mia,_ only that he wished to be alone as much as possible. Perhaps he has ghosts to lay to rest. Maybe he’s shy. Or, it could be he’s worried we’ll find him offensive.”

“Offensive? A blood relative? What nonsense. And why would he want to lay ghosts to rest? Perhaps you misunderstood. You did mention the seance, didn’t you?”

“Plenty of time for that later, once he’s met us. It will be good for the children to meet someone who’s studied abroad. I worry that they’ll grow up believing this town is all there is.”

“Wednesday knows better, Gomez. She plans to go to Massachusetts soon, you know.”

“Yes, I’d been meaning to bring that up. Should we allow it? Unescorted?”

“It’s what she wants, my love. She has such an avid interest in history. I thought it would be a nice graduation present for her. And she wants to see the headstones of our ancestors.”

“Well, only if she gets through this last year. I’m afraid next time, they’ll expel her, and it’s getting difficult to find a good tutor these days.”

“Perhaps if we promise double indemnity?”

“I believe that only qualifies for _accidental_ death, Tish.”

“Well, it’s only one more year,” Morticia said. “Surely if she cannot discipline herself to keep her research here at home, she cannot be trusted to wander about Danvers, Massachusetts alone. This will be a good way to stress the importance of getting along with her peers.”

“I’ve always wondered how she talks so many of her classmates into helping her in her research.”

“She’s very persuasive, Gomez. Even now, Pugsley is being strapped down in her electric chair.”

“It’s no good doing that,” he said thoughtfully. “His braces will cause a short circuit, and she’ll just be right back to the drawing board.”

“Perhaps you should mention it to her, then. She hasn’t been handling frustration well these days.”

“Yes, she does seem to get upset rather easily, doesn’t she? It’s not like her.”

“It’s just a part of growing up, Gomez. She needs to find an outlet for her pent-up emotions. She’s not in the habit of allowing them free rein.”

“She’s a bit young for such things, isn’t she?”

“Open your eyes, Gomez. They’re not children anymore.”

“But, Tish, Pugsley will always be a child. The doctor said so.”

“But Wednesday is becoming a woman. There is only so much I can advise her about. She has to find her own way, and I’m afraid it will be a difficult road for her ahead. She seeks what she cannot have.”

“And what is that?”

“I fear Wednesday is trying to come to terms with death, Gomez. It upsets her that she cannot control it. It is not intimidated by her, and she must realize that she’ll not be able to avoid it when it is her time. She sees this as a failing, a mockery of the control she keeps over everything else in her life.”

Gomez was never one to waste energy pondering what he would never understand, including his daughter. His mind was already drifting back to the cousin no one had known Morticia had. “I hope Tobias doesn’t turn out to be one of those superior, stuffed-shirt scholars,” he mused. “We don’t get on well with them.”

“Speak for yourself, my love. Most people can be won over with quiet strength and peace.”

“Well, at any rate, I don’t think we should let anyone else know who he really is. There’s no way of knowing, from what little he told me, how far his enemies can reach. By the way, as he’s not bringing any family with him, we can only assume he’s an eligible bachelor, and Aunt Humanita has already been asking about him. Should we discourage her?”

“She’s only trying to marry off Cousin Decadence. The poor dear has very little chance of finding a worthy suitor, what with her unfortunate...well, with the way she is. Humanita so worries that Decadence’s twenty-ninth year will pass without a proper suitor, and once it does, the chance of her betrothal narrows significantly. And now, would you go and stop Wednesday from short-circuiting the house? Lurch says we’re running low on kerosene, and _Maman_ doesn’t like working in the kitchen with gaslight anyway.”


	3. Welcome to Your New Life

Chapter Three  
Welcome to Your New Life

Severus pushed his way through the crowds at King’s Cross, resisting the urge to look back to see if Potter was still following him. He could practically feel the green eyes burning into his back, and he kept his steps measured, seemingly unhurried, as he headed down the stairs to the tubes. He squeezed into the open door of a car in the Picadilly line, and checked the people entering after him.

Potter’s eyes had looked too innocent to truly be innocent. He had to have seen the ticket. As the doors whooshed closed and the subway began to move, he slowly eased the tension out of his shoulders. So what if Potter knew where he was going? It would be easy enough to lose him once in the States. Especially as he would be getting on the plane as Tobias Addams. It wasn’t a name Potter would connect with him, even if he _did_ suspect who he really was.

At the end of the line, Severus got off, went through the turnstile, and headed for his new life. Using wand-less magic, he moved ahead of the others, boarded the plane on time, and found his seat. Only then did he relax entirely, playing with the buttons on the seat’s arm until he found the one that eased back his seat. Ignoring the rest of the boarding passengers, including the overly perfumed woman to his right, he shut the panel to the window and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and said a quiet and sardonic good-bye to Potter, to Hogwarts...to Severus. From the time he’d checked in at the gate, he’d been Tobias Addams. All his papers had been in order--this chap Gomez must wield a lot of power--and he forced his mind to clear.

He’d never flown before, not Muggle-style, though he’d wanted to. Some of his earliest memories were of watching planes fly over Spinner’s End, and he’d envied those people who had exciting places to go, and the money it cost them to get there. If he’d been presented with a ticket back then, he’d have jumped at the opportunity, never mind he’d had no particular destination in mind, and no one to greet him at his arrival. Things were different now. He had a place to be, a means of starting anew. His expertise with potions must surely pave the way for some sort of Muggle occupation, and he could forget about teaching reluctant students things they’d never use in their future lives.

Would he really miss it?

Yes, he could admit it openly and without shame, if only to himself. There were many things he would miss. He would miss the discipline necessary to get out of bed every morning and face the dismal routine of the school year. He would miss the aggravation that came from being such a square peg in the round hole of Hogwarts. He would miss the familiarity of the world in which he’d spent his entire life. He would miss the frustration of fighting what he’d so often thought was a losing battle, playing both sides for such an unsure but heroic goal.

He would miss Albus. He’d grown to depend on the old wizard for, not only guidance, but comfort, companionship, and...yes, censure. Who would frown on his actions now? Whose approval would he need to seek now?

He would miss Minerva. She thought he was dead. There would be no more competition between them, no more idle chats around the tea table. It bothered him more than he’d thought it would that he hadn’t been able to confide in her this past year, couldn’t let her know for certain that he was still loyal to the Order. There’d been too much value in her mistrust of him.

He would miss the Malfoys, and it still burned that he hadn’t been able to speak to Lucius or Draco before he’d left. Even if he’d had the opportunity, he would have avoided Draco, since the boy couldn’t be trusted not to reveal Severus’ plans, but why had Lucius ignored his plea for help?

So many pawns used in Voldemort’s strategy. So many lives disrupted. Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort... He kept silently chanting the name, reveling in the lack of power, the absence of almost physical pain that used to come with it. The name that was, for so many years, difficult to even think was now a meaningless litany. He didn’t move his sleeve to look again, but he knew there was no more trace of the dark tattoo that had branded his skin. He truly had been reborn.

He heard movement in front of him and opened his eyes warily. There, before him, leaning half over the back of the seat, was a round-faced lad, a revolting smile plastered on his face. As soon as eye-contact had been made, the mouth opened up.

“Are you going to North Carolina, too? That’s where I’m going. I mean, first I’m going to New York, then I’m going to North Carolina. Is your grandmother there? Mine is. My grandfather is as well, but it’s my grandmother who makes good cookies. Does your grandmother make cookies? My name is Peter. My dad’s name is Stanley, but everyone calls him Peter, like me. Except they call me Petey instead. What’s your name? Do you like to fly? Have you ever...”

He sighed heavily. It was going to be an unbelievably long flight.

 

“You have got to be mental!” Ron exclaimed, cookie crumbs forgotten on his chin. “You can’t just pick up and fly off to Los Angeles and hope to find him in that crowd! And you already said you couldn’t be sure it was him. The name on the ticket wasn’t Snape’s.”

“I’ve already figured out what I’ll do once I’m there,” Harry replied calmly, the lie coming easily. “And if he’s hiding, why would he buy tickets in his own name? Clearly, Tobias Addams is just an alias.”

“But, Harry, that name is as common as mud in the States,” Ron argued. “Are you planning to go door to door and hope one of them will be Snape?”

“How many people do you know that spell Addams with two ‘d’s?”

“And you don’t know that he’s staying in Los Angeles. Maybe he’s going to get on another plane once he gets there.”

“I’m not leaving this all to chance,” he said quietly. “I managed to stick the Scarab onto the back of his coat as he was leaving the train.”

“What Scarab?” Ron’s brow creased. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s a tracking device,” he explained. He pulled a small, flat, rectangular box from his pocket. Pushing a few buttons, he showed Ron the screen. A thin trail was moving slowly across the grey background, pulsing. “That’s Snape. Or that’s who I think is Snape, anyway,” he said.

“But where is he?” There were no other markings on the panel.

“He’s still in the air,” Harry answered. “That’s why there’s nothing else on here. Until he lands, the device won’t pick up on any landmarks. And if I were closer to him, the display would show it. It was a red background at King’s Cross, dimming to pink as he moved away from me.”

“Any other colors?”

“According to the manual that came with the Scarab, the background would turn red if Snape were in danger. Blue if he’s happy, and green if he’s searching for me. There are other colors, but I don’t remember them all.”

“I’ll bet you’ll never see blue. It was red at King’s Cross? What danger was he in there?”

“I think it was me,” he admitted. “If he really is Snape, he didn’t seem to want me to know that. He’d feel he was in danger, I suppose, if he thought I’d go ‘round, telling everyone who would listen that he’s still alive. Obviously, it’s supposed to be a big secret.”

“So, this contraption will only show you this man’s moods? If he was in danger and didn’t know about it, it wouldn’t turn red, would it?”

Trust Ron to come up with questions he couldn’t answer. “I only bought it a week ago,” he said defensively. “I haven’t used it until now.”

“Why did you buy it, by the way?” Ron asked.

“George sold it to me. He was thinking of making a deal with one of his suppliers, but as this wasn’t a novelty item, and he couldn’t tweak it to make it one, he decided against it. On a hunch, I bought it from him.”

“And you just happened to be carrying it when you met that man on the train,” Ron said disbelievingly.

“Yeah. I’ve been carrying it around since I bought it. I only remembered I had it when I realized Snape was going to be lost forever if I didn’t hop on that plane with him. And I couldn’t. My passport was at home, I had only a little money with me...”

“You mean the man you _think_ is Snape hopped on a plane. At least you weren’t daft enough to try to board the plane behind him.”

“I lost him at King’s Cross, when he got on the tubes. But I’ll pick up his trail again once I get to the States.”

“I wouldn’t mind going with you,” Ron said. “But that’s a pipe dream. I’ll be working with George, trying to raise some money. And Mum would pop a blood vessel if I took off again. She doesn’t believe I’ll be returning to school in the fall.”

“Don’t tell anyone where I’m going,” Harry warned. “If anyone else knows about this, about Snape surviving, they’ll probably just panic if they think I might find him.”

“Do you think anyone else knows?”

“I think Dumbledore does, but his portrait isn’t telling me anything. And if Dumbledore knows, I’ll bet McGonagall does as well. And the Malfoys must know; I have to find a way to get to Draco. Who knows? We saved his life at least twice during the battle; he might talk if only to repay a debt.”

“Snape’s a hero now,” Ron pointed out. “Wonder why he would want to go into hiding? The Ministry wants to award him the Order of Merlin; you’d think he’d come out of hiding for that, at least.”

“All I know is that I didn’t see every memory he ever had, and I think there’s much more to Severus Snape than any of us ever knew. And that includes Dumbledore.”

 

“Has Lurch left yet?” Morticia left her mother-in-law in the kitchen as she joined Gomez in the parlor. “Tobias’ plane should have landed by now.”

“He left about an hour ago,” Gomez said. “Did you tell the children to be back soon? It would be nice if everyone were here to greet him.”

“Wednesday refused to make any promises, and she had a decidedly wicked gleam in her eye as she headed out. I took the strychnine away from her, but she didn’t seem discouraged, so I really don’t know what she’s planning.”

“Where’s Pugsley?”

“Don’t worry; I saw him enter his room about an hour ago. Wednesday must have a different playmate in mind tonight.”

“Did you tell Lurch to make sure Tobias’ door locks?”

“Yes, but I can’t find Wednesday’s lock-picking tools. I’m afraid Tobias will have to rely on his own resourcefulness if he ever wants to sleep.” She shrugged. “I can only do so much.”

“I’ll have a talk with her, assuming she comes in before Tobias arrives. It’s an unfair advantage to prey upon one who isn’t ready for her.”

“Be gentle, Gomez. We don’t want to stifle her natural curiosity.”

“Are you sure it’s death she’s so curious about, _querida_? You said yourself, she’s becoming a woman. Are there other things we should warn Tobias about before he meets the children?”

“Don’t be silly, Gomez. Wednesday wouldn’t want someone so much older than she is. She’ll want someone younger, more easily manipulated. She’s just learning, after all.”

“Well, I shall leave all talk of the birds and the bees to you, _cara mia._ As for Tobias, his father had married into a witching family, which must have been something to contend with, so I have no doubt he can defend himself against Wednesday’s innocent curiosity.”

“Interesting,” she murmured. “Does that mean we have a real warlock in the family?”

“He could be,” Gomez granted. “I hope to have a nice long chat with him tonight. I do believe in granting him all the privacy he might need, but if I’m to help him start his new life, there are certain things I’ll need to know.”

He poured a glass of wine for Morticia, and added some gin to his own glass. Staring out the window, he ignored his reflection and sighed. “The spirits are restless tonight,” he noted. “Uncle Ezekariah is poking around Aunt Toomy’s grave.”

“Uncle Ezekariah never did understand what ‘rest in peace’ means,” she agreed. “There will be hell to pay if he manages to resurrect her. Aunt Toomy does like her sleep.”

Gomez’ attention was pulled from the family graveyard by the flashing of headlights pulling into the estate. “Lurch is back! Call Pugsley down, would you, Tish? We’ll have to leave Wednesday to make her own introduction later.”

 

Snape unfolded his long limbs from the cramped sedan and stood in awe, gazing at the derelict mansion before him. The Shrieking Shack had nothing on this mausoleum. This is where his affluent and prominent cousins were housed? It made the hovel he grew up in seem positively cheerful.

He followed the tall, walking cadaver to the door, ignoring the incoherent and deep rumblings of the chap who’d introduced himself as ‘Lurch’, and entered the cold mansion with trepidation. If not for the years of working and teaching in Hogwarts’ dungeons, he wouldn’t have been prepared for anything like this. And yet, he felt curiously peaceful, as if he could make himself feel very much at home here.

“Tobias!” Severus turned to face a beaming man, who crushed him in an unwelcome embrace, kissing each side of his face. Snape dodged the cigar and smiled weakly.

“Gomez? It’s so good of you to have me here,” he greeted. “You’ve done so much already to help me.”

“It’s only the beginning, Tobias! I only wish you had contacted me earlier; perhaps there was something I could have done to help you in all the troubles you’ve faced.”

“Thank you for the sentiment, but, alas, there are some things which must be faced alone.”

“Understood. This is my lovely wife, your cousin, Morticia.”

“Charmed.” He bent to kiss the back of Morticia’s offered hand, at once sensing the deep serenity of the woman before him.

“And you’ve met Lurch,” Gomez added, gesturing to the coat hanger with breath next to him.

Lurch rumbled out what might have been some sort of acknowledgement, and moved to take Snape’s satchel from his shoulder. Snape grabbed it back reflexively. “Thank you, I can manage this,” he said. “I’m not used to being looked after, I’m afraid.”

“Not a problem, my good man. Here is our son, Pugsley.” Gomez waved forward a vacant-eyed, beaming, round-faced giant of a boy, who nodded dumbly and, thankfully, didn’t offer a hand. Nor did he share his father’s European penchant for kissing.

“A pleasure, I’m sure,” mumbled Snape.

“I’m afraid our daughter, Wednesday, is out with...friends. Would you like a brandy?”

“I would, thank you. It’s been a long trip.”

Gomez led them into the parlor, handing Severus a generous helping of a very fine brandy. “My mother is in the kitchen, preparing something for your British palate. I hope you’re hungry. I’ve heard terrible stories about airline food.”

“Actually, my appetite is usually dormant,” Severus quickly replied, not wanting to think what fine delicacies would be prepared in the kitchen of a house like this. Still, the Addamses seemed healthy enough. _Most of them,_ he silently amended, glancing at Lurch. “I hope she’s not going to any trouble for my sake.”

“Well, she likes to keep busy, and the kitchen is her domain. Do you enjoy cooking, Tobias? You mentioned something about potions in your letter. Or perhaps your work is in the medical field?”

“Not far removed from it. Many of the potions I’ve studied or concocted have value in the field of medicine. Also, cosmetics, animal care...” Better not to mention other areas. Not until he knew these people better, anyway.

“Ah, so that’s why you asked about the facilities here. You need your own lab!”

“No, no, Gomez, I wouldn’t be so presumptuous. I’ll find work, and if a lab isn’t provided, perhaps wherever I will live can be modified to suit my needs.”

“Nonsense, Tobias!” came the enthusiastic reply. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want. _Mi casa es tu casa._ And there’s plenty of space in your wing. Please feel free to set up a lab. Whatever supplies you need, just ask. We’ll most likely have most of it around the house already.”

_Well, I may just fit in around here, after all._

Hearing soft footsteps entering at the parlor door, he turned as Gomez spoke.

“Wednesday, you’re just in time to meet your cousin, Tobias Addams.” He looked at the slim, dark young woman, her eyes meeting his, unblinking. She lacked the warm and quiet smile of her mother, but also missing was the vacant and childlike expression that was her brother’s. There was none of the effusive buoyancy of her father’s. Wednesday was definitely a personality of her own, and his eyes moved away from her piercing gaze to what she held in her hand. It was a stiletto, and its blade was pointed toward the floor; what looked like blood was dripping steadily from it, the drops loud when they hit the floor.

“Hello, Wednesday,” he croaked out. “I’m delighted to meet you.”

“Hold that thought,” she replied, her voice eerie and portentous. “Remember those words as you lie in bed at night, trying to sleep.”

_Yes, of course I’ll sleep tonight…_


	4. Brave New World

Chapter Four  
Brave New World

He hadn’t wanted to do it, but after spending half the night tossing and turning, Snape had been forced to pull his wand out of the hidden compartment of his satchel. Casting various charms around the room, he insulated it against the screams and howls, which sounded suspiciously like Uncle Fester--a charming soul he had met over after-dinner brandies. While he’d been at it, he’d painted the walls and ceiling of his sleeping quarters an eggshell white, and scoured the windows. It was an improvement, even in the darkness of the night, and he quite looked forward to seeing how bright it would be in the morning. His bed was sturdier, the mattress firm, the linens clean and crisp.

He lay back against his pillows, wondering if anyone in the area--whatever passed for a Ministry here in the States--would be alerted in some way by the magic he’d used here tonight. It was something he should have spoken about with Gomez before retiring, but he honestly thought he’d have no use for magic in this new life.

He should have known better. _You can take the wizard away from magic, but you can’t take the magic away from the wizard._

He hadn’t even lasted one night without his wand. What could he possibly expect to accomplish in coming here, so far from home and everyone he knew? And the dinner conversation had been alarming. Unemployment was high in the area, and how could he expect to compete with those who had legitimate Muggle certifications and experience? He’d have to rely on Gomez’ counsel in order to forge the papers he would need. It irritated him, having to ask someone else for help. He knew he had nothing to fear from Gomez, but the very idea he couldn’t begin life here on his own rankled.

His overtaxed mind finally yielded to its normal restorative--sleep. His head sank deeply into the pillow as his dreams chased him toward the dawn. He was snoring lightly, and didn’t hear the scratching at his door. The scratcher soon gave up, and her soft footsteps faded off as Tobias twitched in his sleep, only his subconscious aware that his wards had been tested.

When he awoke in the morning, he was refreshed and eager to begin his new life. Not wanting to wake the rest of the household, he pulled open the front door, silently cursing its hinges, and crept toward the family cemetery, losing himself in the early-morning fog.

He’d always enjoyed cemeteries. It wasn’t death he thought about while looking over headstones, it was life. It was his own survival against all odds. He’d cheated death in a thousand ways as far back as he could remember, but it didn’t cause him to gloat over these souls that hadn’t done what he’d done. In a way, he envied them. Their troubles were over.

A moving shadow at the corner of his eye, just barely in his line of sight, caught his attention. The mist was already burning off, and he knew it wasn’t an animal he’d seen. Feigning a casualness he didn’t feel, he slowly wandered nearer to the thorny bushes, his wand hand at the ready.

Bluffing it out, he stopped directly in front of the bushes. “Did you really think I wouldn’t have noticed you there?”

After a moment of silence, the bushes moved, and Wednesday stood up, watching him warily. He backed a few steps away, and she came forward until she was standing on the path in front of him. Her eyes never wavered from his, and he tried Legilimency. She snapped her head back as if he’d slapped her, then glared at him. “What was that?” she asked, ice in her voice.

“What was what?” he asked, not giving in. “What are you doing out here so early?”

“Establishing an alibi,” she answered, deadpan.

He narrowed his eyes, not sure she was kidding. “If your presence here must be witnessed, then why were you hiding?”

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Then why didn’t you leave? You were spying on me,” he accused.

“So what if I was? Wouldn’t you have done the same? You don’t know us any more than we know you. Maybe you’re not even related to us.”

“Aren’t you aware of your family history, then? You must know that your mother and I are cousins.”

“I saw no mention of a Tobias Addams anywhere in our records, and if you _are_ related to my mother, your name wouldn’t be Addams.”

He groaned out loud and took his eyes from hers. Such a glaring error! If a mere child could see it, why wouldn’t anyone else? He’d been such a fool!

He looked back at Wednesday, calculating. “Your parents know who I really am. If they didn’t tell you, then you have no need to know. But I _am_ your cousin.”

“What’s your real name, then?” When he hesitated, she rolled her eyes. “I’m not likely to tell anyone, am I? And if you come right out and admit things to me, I’m less likely to follow you around, spying.”

There was some logic to that, he supposed. And she didn’t seem the type to engage in idle chitchat and gossip. “There are reasons this needs to be kept quiet. I trust you’ll honor my wish to remain anonymous?”

“Of course.”

“I’m Severus Snape.”

“The name isn’t familiar to me.”

_Merlin’s balls, this one is relentless!_ “Perhaps if I remove the Glamor that disguises me...” He relaxed the charm, and watched her reactions carefully. Her eyes widened, and he saw the recognition she couldn’t hide.

“You look like my mother,” she said. “Why are you disguised?”

“Because I don’t yet know where my enemies are. They think I’m dead, and I’d as soon they continued to believe that.”

She pondered his answer, but to his surprise she didn’t seem worried about why he felt the need to be considered dead. “Are you a real warlock? I heard my parents talking...”

He shifted self-consciously as her eyes locked onto the scars riddling his neck. “I’m a wizard.” He once more engaged his Glamor.

“You can perform magic, then? Spells? Chants? Can you raise the dead?”

“I don’t plan to use my wand any more than is absolutely necessary. And the dead generally don’t want to be raised.”

“We raise them every year. They like a bit of play. Why couldn’t you use magic to get rid of those scars? What caused them?”

“A very large and cranky serpent.”

“They can usually be subdued by staring into their eyes.”

“Perhaps only _your_ eyes. Staring into Nagini’s eyes would only hypnotize the unwary.”

He heard her murmur something under her breath that sounded suspiciously and insultingly like, “Amateur.” He forced himself to ignore it.

“Why were you establishing an alibi?”

“You never know when it might come in handy,” she said, carefully avoiding a direct answer. He had to hand it to her; she was no easy target.

“I saw the blood dripping from your dagger last evening,” he tried. “Whose was it?”

“No one that would complain,” came the unhelpful answer. “How do you know it wasn’t an animal?”

“You do a lot of...hunting, do you?”

“Just target practice. I usually use a bow and arrow, though.”

“Would you please refrain from attacking any owls you see? It’s a means of communication, and I’d hate to think I miss valuable information because you think you’re William Tell.”

“I don’t go after owls. They’re not challenging enough.”

“And what do you consider challenging?”

She turned, walking away. “I’ll tell Pugsley not to go after owls as well.”

He kept watching her as she made her way back toward the house. He waited for his danger aerial to kick in, to let him know to be wary of her, but it was mysteriously silent. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to exercise a bit of caution in dealing with her.

Wondering if he appreciated her directness, he knew he didn’t like her curiosity.

 

Harry watched his little box thoughtfully. He didn’t recognize the drawn images that proved the wizard-he-thought-might-be-Snape had landed; geography wasn’t his strong point. He’d gone through some of the volumes of the set of encyclopedia he’d found on the bookshelves, but unless he spotted the Golden Gate bridge on his panel, he knew he wouldn’t recognize any landmarks he might see.

Sighing, he forced his hand to set the little box on the table, and nibbled the sandwich he’d made. The little bleep on the panel that represented the wizard-he-thought-might-be-Snape hadn’t moved much, and considering what time of day it was in California, it was more than likely he was settling into his new home, wherever that might be. He wasn’t still asleep, or the blip wouldn’t have been moving around at all, but at least it didn’t look as though he was still traveling.

He forced himself to relax, trying to listen to the voice inside his head telling him that this evening would reap more information. He was planning to pay Draco a visit, hoping he was wrong--that the Malfoys had recovered Snape’s body and had buried him. Only then would Harry be able to forget the mysterious wizard from the train, who was, at least for now, only a blip on the gadget before him.

And if Draco proved unhelpful... He reached for a blank parchment, penning a note to ask McGonagall for an appointment. Eyeing the little brown owl balancing on the window ledge, he plotted to capture it. He’d bought the owl in Diagon Alley just two days ago, to replace Hedwig, even knowing while he did so that Hedwig could not be replaced. Still and all, he had expected his new owl to at least rise to its function. The ornery beast was more likely to eat a message than deliver it, but he didn’t feel his message rated Patronus delivery.

Harry pounced on the little owl, trying to get a firm grip without crushing it. Spitting out feathers and dodging the little beak, he tied the note to the owl’s resisting leg, then sent it off to Hogwarts. There was nothing more to do until he spoke to the others, and he focused on his sandwich, not noticing that the Scarab’s panel on his table began to change, its background turning a pinkish-red color.

 

Morticia snipped the flowers off the rose bush in the garden, and allowed her eyes to follow the man through the graveyard off to the side of the estate. She’d heard him earlier, wandering through the lower rooms of the house. It would take time for him to be able to sleep through the night here, she knew. He would need time to accustom himself to the old house settling, floorboards creaking, Fester howling, the wind blowing the odd branch against the wall or window...

Still, it surprised her that he’d gotten outdoors as early as he had. Dawn had barely come when she’d heard the front door open. She narrowed her eyes, watching as her daughter neared Tobias, keeping to the shadows of the morning--her usual stealth mode. She was tracking him.

She stopped herself from her automatic warning, and decided it wouldn’t do to remind them to play nicely. Tobias was a grown man, and surely, he would be able to protect himself from the mere girl who was hiding in the shadow of the willow tree.

She picked up her snips and headed back to the house, making a mental note to spend more time with Pugsley. After all, if Wednesday had found a new playmate, her brother would begin to feel left out, and perhaps be left with feelings of inadequacy. On the other hand, he stood a better chance of reaching adulthood intact.

She began poking about in the kitchen. She usually began breakfast for her family, though she never finished it. It worked better than an alarm clock for waking her mother-in-law. The wizened old soul couldn’t bear to have anyone in her kitchen, and by the time Morticia would reach for dragon eggs, _Maman_ would be chasing her out of the room. It suited Morticia just fine. It was important for _Maman_ to feel she was still important around the house, and Morticia found that kitchen duties played hell on her long fingernails anyway.

She turned to begin setting the table, surprised to find Wednesday standing quietly in the doorway. “And how are you getting along with Cousin Tobias?” she asked her.

“He told me who he really is,” Wednesday admitted.

“Nonetheless, we shall think of him as Tobias, if only to avoid slipping in the wrong company.”

“Who is he hiding from?”

“I don’t know, my darling, but I do know it’s a matter of life and death. So, we’ll keep his secrets as we keep our own, won’t we?”

“Of course,” Wednesday said. “He’s a wizard, you know.”

Morticia’s eyebrows shot up, but more in acknowledgement than surprise. “I suspected as much,” she said. “Did he perform any magic for you?”

“He did _something._ I think he can read minds. He tried to read mine.”

“Oh, dear,” Morticia soothed. “Did it bother you so much?”

“I don’t want anyone knowing what I don’t tell them,” she replied.

“No, of course you don’t. No one would. However, I doubt there was any ill will in his attempt. We must remember, he left his life behind to come here. He’s going to be quite skittish for a while. If we’re patient and understanding, he’ll come to trust us as we trust each other. I think he probably had to look over his shoulder for a long time, and that would be a hard habit to break.”

Wednesday turned, unspeaking, and headed upstairs.

“Wake Pugsley, will you, my darling? _Maman_ should be down soon, and she likes us to eat while the food is still moving.”

 

_Well, it’s now or never,_ Harry told himself. After everything he’d been through this past year, he couldn’t believe he was shy about walking up to the front door and knocking. What was this, after all, compared to everything he’d faced in his search for Horcruxes and the final battle?

Forcing his legs to move, he glanced all around him, expecting to see Death Eaters coming after him. It would take a while to shake that habit. The grounds looked fairly well kept up, but he could see subtle signs of neglect. The grounds needed mowing, the flower beds that lined the walkway needed weeding. Glancing up at the house, he sensed a general feeling of unease, but he attributed that to his own reluctance to be here.

Taking a deep breath, he lifted the brass knocker, letting it drop and hearing the empty, echoing sound of it bounce off the interior walls. He knocked twice more, just to prove the first wasn’t an accident, then waited to hear footsteps from the other side of the door. There...he could almost feel them, and hoped it wasn’t just his imagination. What if no one answered? Were the Malfoys as reluctant to see him as he was to see them?

Bracing himself as he heard wards being lifted, locks being turned, he watched the door knob turn. As the door opened, he looked down into the bulging eyes of a house-elf.

“How may Tucker help you?” he asked, his voice gravelly and his diction dignified.

“I’d like to speak to Draco, if he’s in,” Harry said. “I’m Harry Potter.”

“Yes, Mister Potter, all know you. All house-elves honor you, Mister Potter. All are grateful for your victory over the Dark Lord.”

Harry found that a bit hard to believe, but at least the door hadn’t been slammed in his face. He followed the elf, who showed him into the sitting room, then waved his hand and produced a tray of cakes and a glass of pumpkin juice.

“If Mister Potter will wait here, Tucker will fetch Master Draco.”

“Thank you, Tucker.”

The elf smiled shyly, bowed slightly, and left the room. Harry sipped the juice, looking around the room, and was surprised to find it tastefully decorated and very clean. Knowing the Ministry had sent Aurors around to search the estate, he’d imagined the property would have been left in a state of chaos.

Still, they’d been back home for at least a few days now, he reasoned. Wouldn’t the first thing they would have done would be to put things back in order? He wondered if the Ministry had come up with a reason to confiscate the Malfoy millions. He actually hoped not. Some people just didn’t have what it took to start out with nothing. He suspected it would take less than that to completely break Lucius.

He heard footsteps in the hallway, and he set down his glass, turning to face the doorway, ready for anything. The house-elf had seemed friendly enough toward him, but he hadn’t spoken to the Malfoys since the battle. He had no way of knowing whether his presence here would enrage them or not.

Draco stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. “Tucker told me it was you, but I thought he was mistaken. You’re looking well.”

“I’m feeling all right, thanks. How are you and your family doing?”

“We’re still in a bit of shock, I think. But we’ll be fine, thanks to you. And to everyone who fought.” He looked down, a strange look on his face. “I suppose you noticed that we weren’t exactly putting our necks on the line during the battle.”

So, that was the expression Harry couldn’t recognize. Shame.

“I didn’t think much about it,” Harry told him. He felt a need to offer some sort of solace, but he didn’t quite know how. “I don’t think anyone holds it against you, though. Did your mother tell you? She had the chance to ask me in the forest if you were still alive. I told her yes.”

“She told me. It’s what gave my parents the strength to defy him once and for all. We all just wanted it to end. I mean, a long time before the Battle of Hogwarts, we wanted it over with. We’d been prisoners of Voldemort’s since before I tried to kill Dumbledore.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t come here to rake over painful memories, to add or to take away any guilt. “No one is judging you, Draco.”

The old familiar sneer came back to Draco’s face, and Harry was oddly relieved. “Maybe you’re not, but the rest of the country is. My father has lost all respect, all dignity. I hate seeing him that way...”

“Draco, things will take time,” Harry offered. “I’m sure your father will begin to get back to the top of society in time. He hasn’t lost any more credibility than any of the other Death Eaters.”

“The other Death Eaters hadn’t had their wands taken from them,” Draco spit out. “You must know what a humbling thing that is.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harry said, but did not elaborate. Draco had been there, had seen it for himself. Harry, Hermione, and Ron had all been disarmed, and Hermione tortured.

Draco ran his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting that everyone has been affected, and for so long, by Voldemort and those of us who followed him. I’m still kind of scrambling to catch up to the way things are now. I feel like I’m in limbo, not knowing what to do next.”

“Are you going back to Hogwarts for seventh year? We’re all encouraged to repeat what we’d missed and take our NEWTs.”

“Yes, Father says I’ll have to. I think it’s because he doesn’t know what else to do with me. He’s in limbo, too.”

Draco sat down in the chair near the fireplace, waving Harry to another one nearby. Harry sat, watching Draco carefully to see where his thoughts were.

“Are you going back?” asked Draco.

“I haven’t decided yet,” he admitted. “There’s something I have to do, first. That’s why I’m here. I think you can help me. I think you’d want to help me.”

Frowning, Draco looked up at Harry. “What?”

“I think Snape didn’t die, as we’d all thought. And I think you know that. I want to know if the wizard I met on the train from Hogsmeade to London could have been him.”

He watched as a plethora of emotions crossed Draco’s face: shock, confusion, understanding, then outrage.


	5. Education and Ignorance

Chapter Five  
Education and Ignorance

Severus watched Morticia’s long fingers as they deftly looped and wove the yarn between her two knitting needles. “I hesitate to interfere, but I wonder if I could speak to you about Wednesday,” he said.

“Oh, dear,” she said, her hands stilling. “Has she been causing you problems? We did try to take away her lock-picking tools, but we couldn’t find them.”

He stored that information away for later worry. “No, she’s been no trouble. Only we spoke this morning, and I more or less got the impression she’s a lonely and troubled young lady. Does she have friends she associates with?”

Morticia smiled complacently. “It all depends on what you mean by ‘friends’,” she said. “Wednesday has very little patience with most of the girls at school, and has always preferred her own company. She used to spend more time with her brother, but they are drifting apart.”

“Your children attend a Muggle school, do they not?”

She lifted her eyebrows in question. He’d forgotten that they wouldn’t be familiar with the term. “I’m sorry, I meant a school that isn’t private. An ordinary school.”

“Well, Wednesday does. She’ll start her final year in the fall. But Pugsley, I’m afraid, wasn’t doing well. We send him to a different school, where he gets more remedial tutoring. Both are public schools, as Gomez and I decided a private school wouldn’t prepare them for life as well as public schools would.”

“And how does Wednesday do in school?”

She frowned. “Not as well as she could, socially. Academically, she seems bored with the curriculum, though she’s near the top of her class. They do keep threatening to expel her. There are too many unanswered questions, circumstantial sorts of things.”

He’d suspected as much. Mentally, he compared the girl to Bellatrix, then berated himself for doing so. Wednesday didn’t seem the type to maniacally follow a madman.

“Wednesday has always been somewhat arcane,” Morticia was saying, “and we have tried to nurture that, but I’ve never seen anything that should cause the authorities so much alarm. They simply have no understanding of children.”

She seemed suddenly to rise slightly up in her chair, an excited look in her eyes, though the dignified face remained serene. “You were a teacher!” she exclaimed. “How long had you been teaching? And what subjects?”

“Sixteen years,” he answered. “The curriculum included such things as would be unnecessary here.” He looked carefully at her, and reminded himself of the secrets she already knew. Keeping his eyes locked on hers, watching her reaction, he recklessly plunged ahead. “History of Magic, Charms, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology...”

“Dark Arts? You differentiate between different kinds of magic, then?”

“Yes, of course. Dark Arts are that magic which would alter others’ wills, or would injure or kill them. This wasn’t always such a gentle and kind world,” he added derisively, “and to know the Dark Arts is to be able to defend oneself against such magic.”

“Nothing a bit more...conventional? By our standards, I mean?”

“Anyone can teach Composition and Grammar, World History, Mathematics, Science... Why do you ask, if I may know?”

“It’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep Wednesday in school,” she said, worry creeping into her smooth voice. “If we could hire a private teacher, someone reliable and with more stamina...”

Severus frowned, looking out the window, unseeing. “I’m not sure I’d be up to the task,” he admitted. “I could put together a syllabus, interview Wednesday to see where to begin...” He looked back at Morticia. “Are you certain she couldn’t get through one more year?”

“Well, the final year is such a difficult one,” she answered. “More social than anything else, and that’s where her problems lie. It would provide you with a livable income, and even the flexibility that home-schooling allows. I’m sure Gomez would agree. Won’t you at least consider it?”

It certainly would solve some of his more pressing problems, he reasoned. She evidently took his silence for reluctance, and pressed on.

“We really are at our wits’ ends, Tobias. And you could name your salary, after all. It would give you the time you need to find your way in this world, to come up with a solid plan for your future. And she’s a very attentive student, no end to her yearning to study. I’m afraid she could never rely on Gomez nor me for that sort of thing. I have to admit, when she was born, and through most of her childhood, Gomez and I were too wrapped up in each other to pay enough attention to her. _Maman_ and Thing were much more instrumental in her upbringing.”

“Did you say, ‘Thing’?”

“Oh, yes! I’d forgotten you haven’t met him yet. He’s coming back soon. He’s been visiting friends from the North.”

Severus decided not to pursue it. Meeting Fester had been frightening enough; he could do without meeting anyone called ‘Thing’ and still die happy. Changing the subject, he said, “Wednesday was kind enough to agree not to hunt down any owls, when I asked her. I hope you don’t mind, but owls are a good source of communication for those like me. I am hoping for word from a friend of mine, and that’s most likely how the message would be delivered.”

“Charming! I had no idea owls could be that useful,” she remarked.

“Well, not all owls,” he admitted. “They’re a special sort of owl, bred for this purpose.”

“Ah, then we’ll not likely have many around here. Are you sure this is how you’ll receive your mail?”

“I’m not even sure I’ll ever hear from this friend,” he said wistfully. “I only mention it in case an owl comes poking around with a message tied to its leg. It would search the house until it finds me, and, depending on which owl it is, it can be quite cantankerous if anyone else tries to remove the message.”

She smiled. “I’ll make sure to keep an eye out for it, then,” she said. “And please consider tutoring Wednesday for us. I’ll speak to Gomez about it this evening, in hopes he’ll be able to persuade you better than I.”

“If you like,” he answered. “It’s the least I can do, considering everything you’re doing for me. If not for your hospitality, I might even be dead by now.”

“Wonderful! I’ll leave it to you and Gomez to work out the details. I don’t like to pry, Tobias, but I assume that your wanting a new life is a last resort. Have your troubles really been that bad? To give up your friends, your home...your career? You don’t feel you’ve lost too much?”

“No, Morticia; I think the wisest decision I’ve ever made was to start a new life.”

 

“Professor McGonagall, please...” Harry pleaded. “He must have told you _something._ ”

“Mister Potter, it will do you no good to keep badgering me. I agreed to see you only because I didn’t know you were off on another quest. Believe me, until I heard what you had to say at the Battle of Hogwarts, I, like everyone else, was sure Severus had indeed been the Death Eater he’d been posing as all those years.”

“I thought once he joined the Order, you knew better,” he said, trying to keep accusation out of his voice. “Do you mean to say all that time, you had your doubts?”

“You must understand, Harry, he was acting as a spy for the Order. It stands to reason that if he could do that so well, who’s to say he couldn’t do the same for Voldemort? After all, Voldemort himself believed Severus was spying for the Dark side. Living such a life as he had to live, doubts were always there.”

“But all those time I doubted him...when I thought it was him trying to steal the Sorcerer’s Stone, when he tried to go after Sirius...when I first found out he was a Death Eater...and the way you told me he was acting last year...

“You and all the others kept trying to persuade me to trust him, that there were things I didn’t understand. Now you’re telling me I wasn’t the only one who was suspicious of him?”

“I’m only saying that it’s natural to be suspicious of people who must live such a life of deceit. It was important for him to be good at it, in order to prevent being found out, but the side effect is that mistrust is inevitable. And I promise you, he never told me anything about staging his own death. The very idea is preposterous!”

“All I know is that the wizard I saw on the train was wearing a Glamor, and I’m sure I recognized his voice. All I want to do is see if it _is_ Snape, and if so, I’ll leave him to his life as this Tobias Addams. But if it isn’t, I still have to wonder where his corpse is. Wouldn’t you like to see that he was given a proper burial? Surely he rates at least that much respect!”

“I couldn’t agree more, Harry,” she said softly. “It upsets me to no end, the circumstances of his death. But there is no way to learn what happened to him after the three of you left the Shrieking Shack. We were all fighting for our very lives. And there were so many who needed attention once Voldemort was dead...”

“Then I would think you’d help me,” he reasoned. “I’m sure he must have told Albus’ portrait that he was planning to fake his death. And if Albus knows, I can’t believe he wouldn’t tell you.”

“For the last time, Mister Potter,” she said, her voice suddenly icy. “Albus has said nothing of the kind to me, and I agree, he would have. Ergo, Severus said nothing about it to him. Without knowing how Voldemort was going to attack, how would he know to protect himself against it? From your own account, it was a no-win situation. He couldn’t escape the viper’s attack, and that was no ordinary serpent, anyway.”

Her voice softened. “I believe you feel guilty for not knowing, all those years, what motivated Severus. That’s nothing I can help you with. All I can do is advise you to let it go. Let Severus rest in peace, wherever his body may be now.”

Harry stood, knowing it was pointless to go on. He glanced up behind McGonagall’s desk, to the empty portrait. He had a feeling Albus was there, just out of sight, but taking in every word. “Thanks for seeing me, Professor.”

“I do hope I’ll see you again in the fall, Harry.”

“I haven’t really decided yet, Professor. But I’ll see you again soon, regardless.” He smiled weakly. “Headmistress or not, I would like to think we can keep up social contact.”

She smiled warmly. “I’ll hold you to that,” she said. “We’ve permanently lost contact with too many of our friends to allow the rest to slip away from us.”

He left her office, wandering aimlessly around the castle, avoiding most of the construction-elves and their wizard foremen, who were still working on putting the school back to its former glory. He wasn’t aware of the conversation that carried on in Minerva’s office.

 

“Albus, he didn’t believe a word I said,” McGonagall was saying.

“No, our Gryffindor seems to have absorbed some Slytherin qualities this past year. He’s so much more difficult to pacify.”

“Well, as you avoided speaking to him, allowing me to take all the heat, thank you very much, there’s no one else he can question. This might be the end of it.”

“Yes, I don’t believe Severus would have confided in anyone else. He swore me to secrecy.”

“But he had to have known you’d tell me, at least.”

“I promised him, more or less.”

“What do you mean, more or less? What cunning loophole had you left yourself?”

Albus’ eyes twinkled with a light that hadn’t been painted into the canvas. “I merely promised him I’d do whatever I could to see that his new life would be happier than his old life.”

Minerva rested her forehead on her upraised arm, her hand covering her eyes in defeat. “Presumably, you think you know what would make him happy? You have something up your sleeve, don’t you? I’m not sure I want to know...”

 

Harry sat in the stands of the Quidditch Pitch, thinking about what he’d learned yesterday from Draco. The way the transparent wizard had reacted, Harry had wondered if he was afraid of Snape. But Draco’s words changed his mind.

“That explains the silver doe I saw. Father denied knowing anything about it, but he was there when you told everyone why Snape’s Patronus was a doe. It had a message, but I didn’t recognize the voice; it was warped, as if the sender were trying to disguise himself. And the words of the message were very cryptic. I’m sure Father knows what it was all about, but he denied it, said it was sent by mistake, misrouted or something.”

“What did the message say?” Harry asked. “Maybe I can figure it out.”

“What makes you think you can figure it out if I couldn’t?” he said arrogantly.

“I’ll bet you couldn’t figure out which potion would allow you to slip through its barrier to allow you to retrieve the Sorcerer’s Stone,” Harry pointed out spitefully. “Or that you could have figured out how to read Riddle’s diary? Or deciphered the message in the golden egg from the Triwizard Tournament? Face it, Draco, you’re not as clever as I am. In some ways, I benefitted from being raised Muggle-style; I was taught to think logically.”

Draco sneered at him, then shook his head in defeat. “Potter, it’s no good us arguing. I’ll tell you what the message said, and if you can figure it out, all the better. If Snape is still alive, nothing would make me happier. And I’d like to know why my father ignored the message.”

“So what was the message?”

“Hold on, I wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget it.” Draco left the room, and Harry tried to keep from putting too much hope in his ability to decode the message. He could probably consider himself more than lucky that Draco was showing every sign of wanting to cooperate. It was more than he could have expected. But as Draco returned to the room, paper in hand, he could barely restrain from snatching it from his hand.

_Prosapia nemus est praeter a ornamentum._

“I won’t guarantee my spelling; it’s mostly phonetic. And my Latin isn’t good enough for it. It’s not a spell, clearly. Can you translate it?”

“Prosapia... Wisdom? Ornamentum is ornament, or decoration. I can’t figure out the rest, though. But I know someone who probably can.”

“Yeah, let me guess,” Draco said, the sneer noticeably missing from his tone. “Granger.”

“That’s who I was thinking of,” confirmed Harry. “And if not, she’ll know where to find a translation, no doubt.”

“Potter,” Draco said, a plea evident in his voice. “I’d like to know what it means, once you find out. I want to know what happened to Snape. This message came to my father almost the minute we walked in the door. I’ve had nightmares where Snape was asking my father for help, and just the idea that my father would have refused...”

“I know,” Harry said sympathetically. “But if your father understood it, maybe it was something that didn’t need a reply. Maybe it was just something your father needed to know after Snape’s death.”

“Maybe. But he’s acting strangely. Maybe he regrets not having answered it. In any event, I want to know what it says. If Snape is alive, I would like him to know I care. If he needs something from my father, I’d like him to know he can come to me instead.”

Harry had left the Patronus’ message with Hermione. His eyes drifted up to the skies, as if an owl might even now be returning with Hermione’s translation.


	6. More Than a Decoration

Chapter Six  
More Than a Decoration

“I’d be willing to top your salary from your previous teaching post, Tobias,” Gomez offered. “It would mean the world to Morticia and me if you would take this on.”

“I’m willing, but I simply don’t know how Wednesday would feel, taking instruction from me,” replied Tobias. “She’s ... wary of me.”

“She’s wary of everyone, old man. Don’t take it personally. And she’s bound to do better here at home than at school,” Gomez added. “They just don’t understand her there.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he hastened to reassure Tobias. “There’s nothing unusual about her. It’s more that the others are unusual. They tip-toe around the very subjects Wednesday’s most interested in. They actually treat her as if she’s the strange one!”

“I’m not known for my patience with students, Gomez. At my last post, I relied mainly on reputation to keep the students intimidated enough to give me their best efforts, and even then, I wasn’t often impressed with their accomplishments. How would you feel if I were to berate your daughter when she misses a deadline? When she fails to learn what I’ve taught her?”

“I think you underestimate Wednesday’s willingness to learn things she’s been studying vicariously all her life, Tobias. You’ll have a most willing student in her.”

Tobias thought about the unemployment situation in California, about his lack of proper credentials, about the unwavering and unquestioning hospitality the Addamses were providing him...

“I would be happy to begin her studies, Gomez,” he said, forcing a confidence into his voice. “You understand, of course, there would have to be testing by the proper authorities before she’ll be awarded her diploma?”

“As expected,” Gomez assured him. “She’s ready now, actually, except she must accrue more hours, and she plans to study Forensic Pathology in college. All she would need from you is the actual work. She’ll need to prove to the authorities that she’s done the coursework.”

“Just let me know when you’d like us to begin, Gomez. I’ll need a day or two to arrange her curriculum, but by the time I’m ready for her, she’ll have had the time to accept that I’ll be teaching her.” _For as long as I can bear to instruct her..._

Perhaps by then, he will have lined up something more suitable for his career in his new Muggle world.

 

“It means, ‘The family tree is more than a decoration’,” Hermione stated, her face framed in a green blaze in Harry’s fireplace. “Or something like that.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” he protested. “Why would anyone send a message like that with a Patronus?”

“It doesn’t make sense to _you,_ ” she pointed out, “but you weren’t the one the message was sent to, were you? It must make sense to Lucius Malfoy. Perhaps it’s symbolic.”

“Of what? Is there something in Malfoy’s family background Snape was trying to warn him about?”

“Doubtful. People like the Malfoys take their blood lines very seriously, or have you forgotten? It isn’t likely there are any surprises in their family tree. It’s more likely there aren’t any _branches_ in their family tree.”

“Well...then...could it have been referring to Snape’s background? He came from an ordinary, Muggle, working class family. They usually don’t bother with all that background stuff, at least not to my experience.”

“Don’t forget, Snape’s mother was Eileen Prince. She was a witch, and probably clung to her roots more after marrying that horrible man than she might have otherwise. It would have been all she had left.”

“So, I need to find out all I can about that line,” Harry mused out loud. “Maybe the key is with Eileen Prince. But what would she have to do with Malfoy?”

“If this is as you think, Harry, and Snape is still alive, where would he go? We all assume he has no family, but if he does, wouldn’t he go there to hide? And with the way he felt about his father, it would be his mother’s family, I would think. Let me see what I can find out about her. I’ll send you an owl when I have anything worth considering.”

“Thanks, Hermione. There are a few things I’ll check into as well.” _Like how I might be able to get into the house in Spinner’s End..._

 

He’d worried about teaching her history and math, but as Severus watched her eyes light up when he explained what his experience had been thus far, he knew it would take most of his energy to steer her away from the subject of magic.

He’d indulged her natural curiosity, hoping to establish a comfortable bond between them. It would help them begin a one-on-one sort of schooling, but now he didn’t know quite how to put her interest back to the more mundane academics without alienating her.

He could see her disappointment when he moved the conversation away from magic, but she kept silent, taking out her history book to begin the first class.

“I trust you’ve caught up on the reading,” he asked.

“I finished the book last night,” she attested.

_Uh-oh... another Granger, perhaps?_ “And did you enjoy it?”

She stared at him silently for a long moment, and he studied her eyes, unable to interpret what he saw there. “I found it extremely dull,” she admitted. “It only reiterates what I’ve already learned, and barely mentions the Spanish Inquisition and the Black Plague.”

He stifled his grin, his worries about a Granger-clone put to rest.

“No matter. You needed to understand past history in order to learn the whys and wherefores of recent history. I’m going to do something I thought I wouldn’t. I’m going to tell you about recent history in the world I had just left, and at least now you’ll be able to reconcile it with what you already know about your world. The two are more intertwined than you may find comfortable.

“About fifty years ago, a man, Tom Riddle, was born of a non-Magical father and a witch mother...”

 

It was frighteningly easy; no one had put wards on the house, and if Snape had ever done so, they’d worn off. Did that mean Snape really _was_ dead?

“Alohomora,” he whispered, unlocking the back door and checking over his shoulder before slipping inside. The stale odor of dust and stagnant air threatened to choke him, and he bit down on his lips, stifling his cough as he listened for the sound of creaking floorboards or squeaking doors. He made his way quietly through the lower floor, searching for any sign of recent habitation. The dust was half an inch thick on all surfaces, and looked like it hadn’t been disturbed for a long time. He remembered something he’d seen in a Pensieve, and looked at the bookcase against the wall.

He pushed at it. The books shifted, and the shelf itself seemed to rock slightly against a rail of some kind. He poked it sharply, hoping to impel it to pop forward, but the stubborn door remained hidden. Rolling his eyes at his thickness, he pushed against the side edge, pushing the shelving toward the window. The rusty creaking of the rail confirmed his faith that he was alone in the house.

“Lumos,” he whispered, the stairway being too dark for his liking. The stairs led to a bedroom, and from the looks of it, the human rodent had stopped here. Harry crinkled his nose in disgust; Pettigrew had lived as a rat for so long, it seemed some habits couldn’t be broken, and he carefully walked around the perimeter of the room, avoiding the mounds of what looked like kitty litter all over the floor. He poked around in the drawers in both bureaus, but found nothing of Snape’s. Not much of Pettigrew’s either, for that matter.

Thankful he could scratch this room off his mental list of areas to search, he headed back down the stairs and took a closer look at the bookshelves. After scanning and discarding several volumes of leather or vinyl-bound books, he found a photo album and took it over to the sofa, sneezing at the puffs of dust that shot up from the cushions as he sat down.

It was a Muggle album. None of the pictures moved, and there weren’t many photos there. A feminine pen had inscribed most of them, and Harry started at the end, where the most recent picture inside was of Snape as he was boarding the Hogwarts Express, his pale profile in sharp relief against the dark shadows of the station. The young Snape looked neither happy to be heading for school, nor sad to be leaving home--more like...resigned. The date written under the photo read, _September, 1971._

This was Snape’s first time boarding the train, then. Harry remembered his own first day, and thought about the happiness, the anticipation...the worry... Hadn’t Snape felt any of that? Was Hogwarts just something he’d felt he had to ‘get through’? Knowing what he knew of Snape’s childhood, Harry would have thought they’d had something in common here. Both must have been equally happy to escape their depressing home life, but looking at Snape in the picture, Harry was disappointed. He would have thought the stoic features were a learned skill.

Perhaps Snape had to learn the skill at an earlier age than most, he reasoned. At any rate, he wouldn’t learn much from studying Snape’s photo. He paged back through the book slowly, learning from the pictures what Eileen Prince considered important.

Snape’s birthday, probably his fifth, from the look of it. He hadn’t grown his nose yet, but even at five, the bridge was rather pronounced, and the eyes were the black orbs Harry had come to know. There did seem to be a spark of interest in them. And there was a smile on the young lips. Perhaps Snape’s father hadn’t started drinking heavily until later.

The marriage between Eileen Prince and Tobias Snape. Neither of them looked terribly happy, but possibly they just hadn’t been all that photogenic. They were standing stiffly just outside the door of a register office. Civil ceremony. Somehow that didn’t surprise Harry; he couldn’t have imagined these two before a vicar, or surrounded by friends at a reception in their honor.

Paging further back through the album, he found pictures of both Snape’s parents at different occasions: horseback riding through a park; another picture of the two, this time sitting stiffly in someone’s parlor; separate pictures of each as they lived their lives, probably before having met the other. Eileen seemed to have had a few close friends; these girls showed up in pictures often with her.

Tobias, on the other hand, seemed to prefer his own company, and the few pictures taken of him caught him candidly doing things like chores around what looked like a small farm, or as he sat on a sagging wooden porch with an old bloodhound at his feet.

There, at nearly the beginning of the album, Harry found a hand-drawn chart depicting the family lineage he’d been hoping to find. He began with Severus Snape’s name, tracing upward to Eileen Prince and Tobias Snape. Nothing was upward from Tobias’ name, and Harry concluded that he had no family, or, more likely, Eileen couldn’t be bothered with recording them.

Above Eileen’s name were her parents, Certus Prince and Iris nee Fidelare; next to that small box was another with the names Alvin Good and Mactabilia nee Fidelare. Above both those boxes listed a Mortus Crilby and Agate nee Prentiss. Below Alvin and Mactabilia’s box listed their children: Rhonus and Pearl Good. Harry’s eyes widened at seeing the names listed in the box below that one: Gomez Addams and Morticia nee Good--their children listed as Wednesday and Pugsley Addams.

Addams.

Tobias Addams. The name on the plane ticket he’d found on the train with the mostly-silent wizard who carried Harry’s Scarab away from King’s Cross. Tobias? For his father? Addams for a distant cousin?

Harry tore a yellowed blank page from the back of the album, searching his pockets for a quill. He opened his wallet for the condom (would he ever use it for its intended function?) and Transfigured it into a pen, then copied down the family tree. Transfiguring the pen back into the condom and stuffing the page into his pocket, he reverently closed the album and replaced it on the shelf.

There was no longer any doubt in his mind that Severus Snape lived, and he was now with his relatives in America.

The Addams family.

_The family tree is more than a decoration..._


	7. Lectures and Boggarts

Chapter Seven  
Lectures and Boggarts

“There is nothing mystical about the Bermuda Triangle,” he argued, wondering how they’d got on the subject. “Outsiders are merely discouraged from sightseeing.”

“They disappear, never to be seen again,” Wednesday insisted. “You don’t find that mysterious?”

“Wednesday,” Snape said, striving for patience, “the Bermuda Triangle is a sort of haven for wizards and witches, as well as other magical beings, when the need for escape is strong. It’s dangerous, and one would have to want to leave their world behind forever in order to stay there. One doesn’t return from it easily. It’s possible to do so, but not without consequences.”

“What consequences?”

He sighed, knowing she wouldn’t leave it alone until her curiosity was fully sated. Hadn’t Morticia warned him that the Bermuda Triangle was Wednesday’s pet obsession? He should have headed off this conversation before it started.

“The rare wizard who chooses, after a time, to leave the Triangle re-enters the world with partial amnesia. His memory could be compared to Swiss cheese, his thoughts of the Triangle magically, yet naturally, removed in order to preserve the sanctuary for those who still need the anonymity of that particular haven.”

“Is that some sort of hex? Or charm? Who put it in place?”

“Legend has it that the first settlers of the Triangle put the wards in place, in order that their secure and remote home would not be invaded by those who wished to colonize it.”

“So, if someone were being persecuted by others in this world, he could go to the Triangle and be free of them? No one would hunt him down?”

“Why would you be so interested in such a thing?” he asked, remembering the bloody stiletto she’d had in her hand when he’d first met her. “It isn’t a spot I’d recommend for a holiday.”

“I’ve always been interested in the Bermuda Triangle,” she said. “You mentioned a certain time frame. How long would one have to be there before amnesia set in upon leaving? What if I were to visit for, say, one week? I could leave with my memories intact, couldn’t I?”

“It would take you far longer than that to find your way back out, Wednesday. There are, reputedly, seasoned travelers who’d taken years to locate an exit. By then...”

She studied him, no doubt looking for signs of hyperbole. He met her look blandly, waiting for a signal that he could move on with their lessons. He’d been planning on reviewing physics today, and it would do no good to begin if her mind remained in the Bermuda Triangle.

“Why did you come here instead of going there?” she asked cagily. “I thought the whole idea was for you to live your life anonymously. You _are_ planning to return to your old life one day, aren’t you?”

Her words gave him pause. It was a logical question, but why had the Triangle never occurred to him when he was planning his new life? He knew he’d never go back to his old life, he had no wish to keep in contact with anyone. So why...?

He narrowed his eyes at her, indignant that she’d zeroed right in on something he should have thought of. Did he have a subconscious wish to keep his options open?

Preposterous. He simply hadn’t thought of it, that’s all. There were probably many options he’d not considered. After all, he hadn’t been afforded a lot of time to think about it. Before Voldemort’s demise, all his waking hours were spent keeping the students as safe as he could under the Carrows’ tyranny, along with keeping at least one step ahead of Voldemort. Add to that all the problems of running a school where no one but the Death Eaters and Voldemort wanted him, and it was all he could do to prepare for his imminent execution.

Afterward, he’d been hiding, giving his wounds a chance to heal, and trying to find a refuge. Two weeks he’d spent, trying to keep from being recognized as Aurors and the relatives of those who’d fought in the Battle of Hogwarts began searching Hogsmeade from top to bottom, and it was a wonder he’d managed to pull it off at all. He couldn’t be expected to have thought of every option.

He’d had his back against a stone wall.

When he’d boarded the train in Hogsmeade, it was with the assurance that he’d never be back. He leveled a glare at Wednesday, silently rebuking her for putting such doubts in his mind.

She finally lowered her eyes to her physics textbook. He began writing equations on the chalkboard Gomez had provided him with, and asked her to solve them.

She took the chalk from him and quickly went through the exercise. He was slightly mollified that she’d done her homework to prepare for this class, but as she’d turned back to her book, he heard her whispered and wistful words.

“I wish I could speak to someone who’d been there and back...”

_Merlin, save me from obsessive children..._

 

Harry grabbed a pinch of Floo powder, but hesitated before tossing it into the fireplace. He’d waited until the last minute before contacting Hermione, and now he went over in his head all his defensive arguments for what she was sure to say to him.

Taking a deep breath, he tossed the powder in, calling out, “Hermione Granger’s bedroom.”

She answered almost at once, taking away his hope that she’d be out somewhere. “Harry, I was going to owl you. I found some references to Eileen Prince at Hogwarts, but not much more than we’d found before. I think I can get some information from the Ministry’s Vital Statistics Department, though...I just have to ask--”

“Don’t bother,” he interrupted. “I found his family tree.”

“How?”

“His mother kept a photo album and scrapbook. I know the wizard on the train was him, Hermione. I know where to find him now.”

“Oh, Harry... He’ll not thank you for tracking him down, you know. And why should you? You know his decaying corpse isn’t lying around somewhere; wasn’t that why you were so intent on finding out what happened to him?”

“But why would he want to hide now?” he asked. “I don’t plan to tell anyone where he is, and other than you, Ron, Dumbledore and McGonagall, no one else knows I’ve even been asking about him. Well, except Draco. I forgot about him.”

“Have you told Draco what the Patronus’ message meant?”

“Yes, I talked to him this morning. I didn’t tell him anything else, though. Not until I know why Snape sent the Patronus. Maybe he didn’t want the Malfoys to know where he was going.”

“It’s more likely he wouldn’t want _you_ to know, Harry. Do you actually plan to confront him?”

“I just want to talk to him, Hermione. I just want my questions answered. There’s no one else who would know what I need to know.”

“And you expect him to sit down with you and have a friendly chat about your mother? He’ll hex you on sight, Harry!”

“I seriously doubt he’d fatally injure me, Hermione. I’m still Lily Potter’s son.”

“I wouldn’t count on that saving you, Harry.”

He made a show of looking at his watch. “My plane leaves in an hour. I have just enough time to get to Heathrow. I’ll write as soon as I find him...either to you at home or, if it takes that long, at Hogwarts.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to try to send an owl across the Atlantic?”

“No, of course not. I’ll send it to Molly Weasley the Muggle postal service way. She can forward it to you by owl.”

“Write as soon as you get there, Harry. Don’t make me wait until you talk to him.”

He grinned. “Okay, Hermione. I will.”

 

Macnair waved his hand at the wench, gesturing for her to leave the key on the chest of drawers. He waited until she left the room before looking around, eyeing the furnishings with distaste. Looking at the bed, he decided to sleep on top of the blankets. He was sure the sheets hadn’t been changed after the last tenant, and those who would seek shelter in this dump wouldn’t be the posh gents who bathed regularly.

He moved to the connecting loo, looking sourly into the sink. A few black whiskers were stuck to the porcelain of the sink, where they’d dried to stick to the bowl. Eyeing the toilet, he decided he’d wait until his bowels left him no choice. At least then, he wouldn’t worry so much about germs.

He headed back to the bed, sitting to kick off his boots. A bit of material caught his eye; something was poking out from under the bureau. He reached for his wand, then Summoned the green and silver scrap of cloth to the bed, where he could examine it more closely. A Slytherin scarf. He’d recognize it anywhere; he’d once owned a couple of them.

Holding it close to his nose, he inhaled deeply. Sandalwood...pine...asphodel...sweat... He knew whose scarf it was, and it couldn’t have been in here more than a few days.

His face cracked as his smile turned feral.

 

“One more time and that’ll be it!” Snape warned. “This is not what your parents are paying me to teach you. Now prepare yourself; I’m going to let it out again.”

He opened the closet door, allowing the boggart to be released. It wasn’t a real boggart; he’d done the best he could to manufacture one, simply for Wednesday’s entertainment. There just didn’t seem to be a lot of boggarts in this end of the world, but he’d only wanted to better illustrate the concept to answer the relentless questions Wednesday insisted on interrupting their lessons with. He watched as the boggart began to take shape once again. He didn’t understand it, didn’t recognize what it might be. He was frankly amazed that it reflected Wednesday’s fears instead of his own. He hadn’t thought Muggles would influence such a magical being.

He watched Wednesday closely as her eyes widened, and his own ears began to thrum in protest as the boggart began to sing. _“Here’s the story of a lovely lady, who was bringing up three very lovely girls...”_

Wednesday hissed and lashed out, her hands coming up like a shield.

“Riddikulus!” Snape shouted out, sparing Wednesday from what was clearly a fear she couldn’t deal with.

The boggart, in a flash of blonde hair and metal-lined teeth, wavered and fell silent. It began to advance once more, this time with a different tune. _“With a taste of your lips, I’m on a ride. You’re toxic, I’m slipping under...”_

This time, Wednesday screamed, driving both Tobias and the boggart back. Tobias escaped to the foyer, shutting the parlor door behind him. He heard the sounds of scuffling from within, but decided Wednesday’s greatest fears were more than he could handle. He turned toward the front door, waving Lurch away, to answer the pounding that he realized wasn’t just in his head. He pulled it open, gaping at the visitor.

“Good morning, Tobias Addams. You have something that belongs to me. Can we talk?”

 

Harry willed his voice to betray none of his nervousness. He stood calmly, his eyes locked with Snape’s, and waiting for the door to be slammed in his face. He was prepared to remain on the front porch as long as necessary to be admitted inside.

But the door didn’t slam shut. Snape stared at him wordlessly for what seemed a hundred years. As the shock, then dismay, swept over the Glamorized Snape, Harry took in the sounds of a melee inside the house. Perhaps it wasn’t the best of times for him to have stopped by, but it was too late to back away now. He’d never again have the element of surprise, and Harry had known it might be his only chance to speak to Snape.

After one particularly loud crashing sound echoed throughout the vestibule, Snape leaned forward and grabbed Harry’s lapel, pulling him forcefully inside. He wrestled the heavy door shut, leaning against it, and narrowed his eyes at Harry.

“I suppose it would only be insulting to both of us if I were to pretend I am not the wizard you allege me to be,” he said in greeting.

“Look, Sna...Mister Addams... I have no intention of upsetting your plans, whatever they may be. I only wanted to talk to you so I can put some ghosts to rest, in a way. I have more questions now than I had before I saw your memories, not to mention all the questions about what you’re doing here, with a different face...a different name.”

The door to the side opened with a whoosh, and Harry watched as a disheveled-looking young woman walked daintily into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind her. She glanced at Harry, sizing him up before her look dismissed him, then spoke to Snape.

“It simply wouldn’t cooperate. I think it’s dead now, though.”

“Impossible!” Snape argued. “What, exactly, did you do?”

“I stabbed it,” she responded calmly. “You don’t hear it singing anymore, do you?”

Snape pushed away from the front door and poked his head into the parlor. “You imbecile!” he yelled. “You’ve cut it in two! They’re singing a duet! Listen!”

Harry frowned, trying to place the song. _“Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme... Remember me to one who lives there...”_

“For the love of Merlin, child, why didn’t you wait for me to come back in?” Snape yelled over the singing.

“You abandoned me to it,” she answered testily.

Snape darted into the room, and Harry heard him call out, “Riddikulus!” He came back into the hallway, looking pale and slightly shaken. “Gone,” he said. “No more of that nonsense. I think you get the idea now.”

Harry gaped at them. He recognized the lesson from his own studies of Defense Against the Dark Arts with Remus Lupin. He looked once more at the girl. He eyed her long black hair, several strands loose from her plait; her high cheekbones, flushed with her recent trauma; her svelte-looking shape beneath her black sweater; her long legs hidden beneath her black slacks, her black slippers that showed the delicate arches of her feet; and her...her breathing, emphasizing her perky...

His eyes shot up to hers, and he felt the impact of her brown eyes as they stared at him. He smiled, but couldn’t help but feel it came out more as a grimace. He glanced at Snape and cleared his throat nervously.

The man who called himself Tobias shook his head in defeat. “Harry Potter, meet Wednesday Addams. As you may have guessed, Wednesday was curious about Defense Against Dark Arts. Wednesday, this is Harry Potter. Wizard. Hero. Former student of mine. All-around pain in the arse.”

“Charmed,” she said, turning on her heel and disappearing into another room.

“Pleasure’s mine,” he whispered to no one. He looked back at Snape. The wizard was looking at him from lighter-colored eyes than Harry was used to seeing in his face, though the arched eyebrow and curled upper lip were familiar.

“Let’s take a walk, Potter. I need a breath of fresh air.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The songs the boggart was singing are, in order: 1) the theme from ‘The Brady Bunch’, 2) Britney Spears’, ‘Toxic’, and 3) Simon and Garfunkel’s, ‘Scarborough Fair’.


	8. But Why...?

Chapter Eight  
But Why...?

“So why is Cousin Decadence coming over for dinner?” Wednesday asked her mother. “She usually avoids us.”

“We thought it would be nice to have her over, that’s all,” Morticia equivocated. “It’s been a while, and the unfortunate thing has no social life...”

“Grandmama is trying to set her up with Tobias, isn’t she?”

“Now, Wednesday, you know perfectly well outsiders cannot interfere with true love. Either it happens or it doesn’t. Still, a simple introduction wouldn’t go amiss.”

“He’s too busy tutoring me,” Wednesday pointed out. “If he can’t spend time teaching me, I’ll have to go back to school in the fall, and I. Do. Not. Want. That!

“It’s hardly likely he’ll forego your lessons in favor of courting Decadence. After all, your father is paying him a handsome salary for his work with you. How are you progressing?”

“Mother, please,” she answered, rolling her eyes. “You know perfectly well I’m ready to sit my exams right now. I am getting an interesting education in the world of Magic, however, and I do need to log those hours. Decadence will only interfere with all that.”

“Are you plaguing him with needless questions about his past?”

“Where else am I to get such an education?”

Morticia raised her eyebrows, but decided that until Tobias complained, she’d leave them be. “What does he say about your questioning?”

“Nothing I should repeat.”

“Oh, dear. You’re really making him earn his pay, aren’t you?”

“What if Decadence shows an interest in Tobias? The lessons are just now getting interesting.”

“Wednesday, all this worry and, yes, jealousy, are beneath you. Behave like the proper young lady you are at dinner tonight, and see for yourself if anything will come of it.”

“Why does everyone think of Decadence as ‘unfortunate’?”

“Well, she’s... she’s so different, really. Her mother insists she’d been touched by Zeus, and that’s how she begat Decadence. And, as silly as it sounds, there might be something to that. After all, she has none of my family’s dark features, and her personality... Well, it does take a good deal of tolerance to put up with it.”

“Zeus never existed, nor did any of the other Greek gods and goddesses.”

“Did Tobias tell you that?”

“He didn’t have to. I saw his upper lip curl when I mentioned it.”

“Well, he would know better than any of us.”

“Where’s Pugsley?”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Morticia said, beaming. “You haven’t asked after him for so long I was afraid you’d grown tired of his company. He’s in the study, helping your father with his train set.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Some of the passengers escaped, it seems, and they’ve tried to sabotage the engine.”

Morticia watched as Wednesday made her way out of the parlor toward the study, wondering if Wednesday had had anything to do with the escape. It would be indicative of her approaching adulthood. Morticia smiled, remembering back to the summer before her eighteenth year, when she’d begun collecting and caring for stray animals, instead of holding funerals for them.

She sighed, going back to her book. _Well, better late than never,_ she thought. She herself had been a late bloomer, and it seems her daughter was following in her footsteps. She’d been having worries that Wednesday, like her brother, would forever be a child.

 

Macnair limped away from the whimpering, cowering innkeeper, a satisfied smirk distorting his normally stoic features. She’d put up a good fight, and his leg would need to be seen to. What a wench could do with spiked heels... He’d given her a few extra belts for that one. He tossed away the broken pieces of her wand, then checked to make sure he hadn’t lost his own wand in the scuffle. Perhaps he was a Neanderthal, but he felt using a wand, merely to question a woman, was beneath him.

In the end, as always, he’d gotten the information he’d been seeking. He had a fair description of what Snape now looked like, and a few more discreet enquiries at the train station would yield even more information, he was confident of it.

 

Harry looked around him as he and Snape walked. _Why is he always so creepy?_ Harry wasn’t opposed to walking, but a _cemetery?_ He looked at the names on the tombstones they passed. _Abigail Forester Addams...Amelia Prudhoe Poe...Bartelby Amos Van Demon...Deodat Good..._

“Why was it so important that you track me down, as if you were a common bloodhound?” Snape asked, his tone waspish. “What is it I have that belongs to you?”

“Answers,” replied Harry. “Surely, now that you’re here, with your new life, you can afford to be magnanimous?” _Sceptima Gothica...Murray Daniels Good..._

“Learned a new word, have you?”

“I’m not nearly as stupid as you’ve always believed, you know. And you have my Scarab. That’s how I tracked you down.”

“Where is it now?”

Harry wasn’t surprised that Snape seemed to know how Scarabs worked. “I put it on the hem of the coat you were wearing on the train,” he said. “You should know, by the way, that the last time I looked at it, the background was reddish. It seemed you were in some degree of danger.”

“And when was that? The last time I wore that coat... Never mind,” he added, waving away Harry’s reply. “I was with Wednesday. She’s one I think I shouldn’t turn my back on...”

Snape stopped walking, staring down at the path before him. Harry followed his gaze, but could see nothing amiss. Glancing up at Snape, he could see the creases on the unfamiliar face, and held his tongue until the older wizard finished his thoughts.

“I never thought you were stupid, Potter.” He resumed walking, and Harry followed. _Antoine Demise...Chia Devilla DeMoan..._

“You could have fooled me.”

“You’re aware of what caused my resentment by now, aren’t you? You’ve seen my memories?”

“I have. I began to understand your resentment toward my father and the rest when I looked into your Pensieve, back in fifth year. It took a bit longer to see why you resented so many others as well.”

“I confess to puerile hostility, and that I had no justifiable reason to aim those hostilities at you. Perhaps if you didn’t look so much like your father, I could have moved past it more easily, but I’m not perfect, Potter.”

“I don’t expect you to be.” He and Snape walked toward the pond, and as Harry looked at the various headstones scattered around, he struggled to find some common ground, something that would make this interview go a bit more smoothly.

“I’m not totally without understanding, you know,” he said, breaking into Snape’s thoughts. “I know what it’s like to be bullied by others. To always have to settle for dregs, never having anyone appreciate you for who or what you are.”

Snape glanced at him, one eyebrow arched, but said nothing.

“We’ve more in common than you seem to realize,” Harry added.

“I’m aware of that,” answered Snape. “It probably increased my resentment, knowing that.”

“Why?”

Snape heaved out a theatrical sigh, stopping and leaning back against an ancient oak tree, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not in the habit of analyzing my thoughts in such a way, Potter. Such musings only get in the way, prevent one from making a quick and firm decision about whatever needs a decision. But if only to get you moving on your way in as expedient a manner as possible, I’ll give it a try.”

Harry hid his smirk, gratified at seeing the more familiar snarky professor, and sat on a rock, giving Snape his full attention, trying to ignore the headstone gracing what looked like a rather large burial mound. _Miscellaneous truant officers, law enforcement officials, members of the media, unwary former classmates..._

“My hostility toward my classmates, toward my professors, toward the world at large--it was quickly becoming a habit. It started much earlier, but then my life had so few people in it. A few assorted children from the neighborhood, my parents...

“When I began at Hogwarts, I had allowed myself to hope for a new way of life. I’d had visions of becoming part of a group of people my own age. Having friends...friends who would hold me in high esteem because of my quickness and skill with a wand. Those who might be impressed with my intelligence...

“But I had not taken into consideration that I was beyond them. All my experiences in life to that point had matured me quite a bit more than my fellow eleven-year-olds. I was an oddity to them, but didn’t realize that at the time. Children must always find someone in their midst to put at the bottom of the pecking order, and my... uniqueness... made me the perfect candidate.

“And so my life at Hogwarts was to be more of the same life I had before going there. Your mother was the one exception.”

Harry’s ears perked up.

Snape pulled a leaf from the tree and began pulling the soft green away from the stem. “Lily didn’t seem to care that I wasn’t a good-looking boy, didn’t care that I didn’t excel at things like Quidditch or even that I wasn’t the world’s best conversationalist. She seemed to see beyond things like that.

“We became quite close, and there was a time I allowed myself to fantasize about what our lives would be like after Hogwarts, when we could marry, begin a family...”

Harry shifted uncomfortably against the rock. Did he really want to hear the pain Tobias/Severus had felt as his hopes, little by little, had been crushed? He looked away, toward the darker part of the cemetery, not wanting to see any of it in Snape’s face. But he continued to listen. This is what he had come here for, wasn’t it?

“I said some unforgivable things to her, things she must have remembered for the rest of her life,” Snape continued, his voice curiously devoid of any strong emotion. “Things I will always remember as well. It was another layer of hatred to add to my soul. You know what came later--the taking of the Dark Mark, the prophesy, my going to Dumbledore for employment, the spying...

“All those resentments had formed me, shaped me into the spy both Voldemort and Dumbledore wanted me to be. And by then, it was what I thought I wanted as well. I was comfortable with my anger, or so I thought. It kept me company.”

Harry glanced back at him. Snape was watching his face, gauging his reaction. Harry fought to keep his face free, tried to keep his thoughts from showing up. He wasn’t sure where Snape was going with this.

“Then you showed up in your father’s face, with your mother’s eyes, and you were turning out to be the very student your father was. I felt as though I were reliving my own school years, but this time without your mother to make it bearable.”

“I can’t help it that I look like my father, or have my mother’s eyes,” Harry shot back, bridling. “And I never would have bothered you at all, if you’d just have left me in peace. You went out of your way to bait me.”

“I know I did. It was all part of that resentment we’ve been discussing. Potter,” he continued, sounding like the lecturing professor of old, “I’m not excusing my behavior, nor should you feel the need to defend yours. The point I’m trying to make is that I wrapped that cloak of resentment around me so tightly, so securely, that I fought against any opportunity to remove it.

“Your being at Hogwarts was my chance to put all that past history behind me. If you and I had gotten along, if I’d not taken out my anger on you, I could lose that cloak forever.

“But I wasn’t ready to do that,” he finished. “I let it bother me that we had much in common. I didn’t want to feel any sort of kinship with you. It felt too comfortable, too familiar, to lean on the hostility instead. It kept me sharp when I so needed to be.”

Harry digested this, running his hand over the smooth rock as he thought. Snape had needed to be ‘sharp’ for so long--all through the threat of Voldemort. But Harry had more or less known this already. He tried to find a way to steer the conversation around to his more pressing questions, but didn’t want to give Snape any reason to back away from this discussion. He might never get another chance.

“Why did you fake your death?”

“Why would I have wanted to continue my life?” Snape retorted. “Voldemort was dead, finally, and there are many who could teach Potions or Defense Against the Dark Arts. Better qualified professors to run the school. I had no family... no real reason to carry on.

“But I wasn’t ready to die,” he continued. “I had discovered my relatives here, and it seemed like a good idea, starting over.”

“But what about your friends?” Harry asked. “What about all the people you’ve helped, all the things you’ve done to make our world a better place? They want to award you the Order of Merlin, you know.”

Snape snorted. “They can do that posthumously, if they’re so inclined. If I were to appear at the ceremony, it would be to hear the snide remarks made when the medal was pinned on my chest.”

“There are many who would be proud to see you accept that award,” Harry argued. “I thought you and Professor McGonagall were somewhat close; does she even know you’re still alive?”

“No.”

“I thought she did. She denied it, but I could tell Dumbledore was nearby. And since I figured he knew, I was sure McGonagall did as well, but she was keeping your secrets.”

Snape smirked. “I think you’re right. It would be unusual if she couldn’t have pried information from Albus.” His smirk turned into something a bit warmer, with a touch of nostalgia highlighting it. Perhaps Snape wasn’t as hostile as he’d pretended to be.

“I thought you and Lucius Malfoy were friends,” he asked, hoping to get Snape talking again.

“It was never the easy friendship I shared with Minerva or Albus,” he answered. “Malfoy looked after me years ago, when I was first working my way into Voldemort’s ranks. He had tried to ‘polish me up’, to take me from my less-than-noble background to something more genteel and refined. But as time passed, and Voldemort came to rely on me for more and more, the competition between Malfoy and me became a bit more stiff. Malfoy was always jockeying for the position of being the Dark Lord’s favorite, because of the power and prestige it offered.”

“And you? Were you ever his favorite?”

“At times,” Snape admitted. “Whoever delivered what he wanted was, at the time, his favorite. Such a status was ever-changing, and Malfoy could never see that. I wanted to be secure, I wanted his total trust, so that I could do what I had to do without having to worry about being killed.”

“I know you sent Malfoy your Patronus,” Harry said. “Draco told me, and he told me what it said.”

He watched as Snape’s eyes narrowed, and was satisfied to see the quickening of interest in the Glamorized features. “And what did you make of all that?”

“Hermione figured out what the words meant, and I just began poking my nose around until I found your family tree. Putting two and two together, I realized what it all meant. Then I came here to find you.”

“Just exactly how many people are aware of my supposedly anonymous existence?”

“Ron, Hermione, and Draco know what I suspected, but they don’t know I’ve actually found you. Dumbledore and McGonagall know because of the questions I was asking, but they don’t even know I’ve left the UK. Who is supposed to know about it? Who did you take into your confidence?”

“Only Albus. There are others who know I’m alive, like the landlady of the inn where I was staying, and of course my relatives here know. Well, Gomez and Morticia know, and I’ve had to take Wednesday into my confidence as well. I couldn’t have her poking around, probing, could I?”

“So, you just plan to forget about your friends? All those people who are mourning your death?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Potter,” he spat back. “No one is mourning my passing.”

“You’re wrong, you know,” Potter said softly. “You have always had friends; you just never recognized them.”

He watched Snape push himself away from the tree, slowly walking down the pathway to the darker section of the cemetery. Harry called out after him, “Were you asking Malfoy for help when you’d sent your Patronus?”

Snape stopped, then looked back over his shoulder. “That rock you’re sitting on doesn’t really want you there, you know. Do be careful.”

Harry glanced down at his perch, then leapt quickly away from it. The engraved gargoyle on its facing was smiling at him. “Ah, thank you, sonny,” it said. “Your butt’s not all that comfortable.”


	9. The Terror of Introductions

Chapter Nine  
The Terror of Introductions

“More potatoes, Tobias?” Morticia asked, her mild voice pulling Snape’s focus back to the meal before them.

“No, thank you, Morticia,” he said, passing the bowl over to her. His face burned, and he kept his eyes on his plate. He realized he’d been staring at Decadence, and had been, ever since she had come.

Morticia’s introductions had gone in one ear and out the other, and he feared he’d humiliated himself with his monosyllabic responses as small talk was made in the parlor. He’d been relieved when the old crone from the kitchen had called them all in to dinner.

She was stunning. She couldn’t possibly have come from the same gene pool as the rest of the family, his own included. Her eyes were clear blue and sparkling. Her complexion was smooth and creamy. Her honey-blonde hair fell in soft waves to her shoulders, shiny and smooth. It invited his fingers to comb through it, and he’d only refrained from doing so when she’d looked away from him to Potter, who had also been invited to dinner. In fact, Potter had been invited to stay in a guest room for the length of his visit, a detail Severus had not allowed himself to ponder over too long.

He darted a peek to Decadence now, as she chatted with Pugsley about the stock car race he’d seen that afternoon. Her blue eyes were mischievous as she teased the boy, pretending interest in something she clearly had no real regard for.

His gaze traveled down to her chest, displayed nicely in her form-fitting blouse, and he dragged his eyes away before anyone noticed. His eyes caught Potter’s, and he started. Potter grinned and looked away, filling his mouth with roast beast and nodding to Wednesday. Snape looked quickly at Wednesday, wondering if he’d missed a vital piece of conversation, and her icy look started his heart hammering. She was kind of spooky, and he didn’t want to be her target, for whatever reason. Sure, he could always defend himself against her anger, but did he really want to draw a wand on Gomez’ daughter?

Wondering what she could have to be angry with him about, he set out to pay more attention to the three different conversations going on around him.

 

Harry hid his smirk behind his upraised glass of mead. So, Snape was smitten with Decadence? Harry had never thought he’d see the day. The lone bat of the dungeons wasn’t above feeling the stirrings everyone else felt, was he?

Speaking of which...

He supposed he should make eye contact with Wednesday now and then, at least when she was speaking to him, but she had such a direct and piercing stare. He knew she was a Muggle, but what if she had some sort of extrasensory perception? It certainly _felt_ as if she were trying to read his mind. He would swear that his interest in Wednesday went for naught; she seemed to hold him in contempt, but, on the other hand, she also kept questioning him about what his interests were, what he was planning to do with his life, now that his schooling was done, questions about his upbringing...

Would she be asking such things if she weren’t interested?

He caught Snape’s smug grin, and he knew the man was aware of what he was thinking. Instead of feeling mortified, as he once would have been, he relaxed. It seemed to put both of them on the same playing ground. If Snape thought he’d give Harry grief over his infatuation with Wednesday, Harry could always play the Decadence card. Tobias/Severus was no longer his teacher. In fact, with this new life, Snape wasn’t any sort of authority figure to Harry at all, and it felt good to be dealing with him as a fellow adult.

Things might get very interesting indeed...

 

“Don’t tell me you aren’t aware of it,” Macnair taunted as Lucius Malfoy paced the drawing room in agitation. “You two always were friends.”

“Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed how much the status quo had changed over the last several months,” Lucius retorted. “Snape would no more confide in me than he would in you. He’s dead; I have no doubt about that. And you were told not to come here, not to contact me! I’m still awaiting trial, and I won’t have my association with you help me down the path back to Azkaban!”

“Come down off your high horse. No one knows, nor cares, that I’m here. And don’t bother denying what I know to be true. I found proof that, until a few days ago, he was in Hogsmeade. I know he must have been in touch with you.”

“He hasn’t. Nor would he be.”

“All I want to know is where he headed after Hogsmeade,” Macnair persisted. “One quick answer from you, and you won’t be bothered with my presence any longer. If he’s no longer any friend of yours, why would you feel the need to protect him?”

“I don’t! Nor do I know where he went.”

“Then you do agree he’s not dead?”

Malfoy stopped, turning and fixing a jaded eye on Macnair. “I thought it beneficial to stop debating that particular point, if only to get through this annoying conversation more quickly. You’ll have to find him, _if_ he’s still alive, on your own.”

Macnair snorted, then stood to leave, not entirely unaware of the relief on Malfoy’s face. He’d pursue other lines of information for now, but knew he’d come back here again, if only to watch the once-great Malfoy grovel at his feet, begging for release from pain. But he’d have to catch him off guard. Voldemort apparently hadn’t broken him completely, and he was showing signs of arrogance once again. It was a battle for another day.

He refrained from returning a response to Malfoy’s civil words of parting, and stalked out of the house, leaving Malfoy to close the door behind him. Sneering to himself as he heard wards being put into place, he mentally reviewed the words that would lower the wards Malfoy always used.

 

Lucius watched through the narrow window near the front door as Macnair left the grounds. Feeling a presence just behind him, he murmured, “Tucker, let loose the hounds. I want them patrolling the grounds round the clock from now on. Fetch Macnair’s gloves from the drawing room and give them to the dogs. I want them to attack to kill next time he shows up.”

 

Harry jumped, startled by the twig he’d stepped on. He’d followed Wednesday--at a shy distance--as she had made her way out to the brook that crossed the Addams’ estate, and now he watched her carefully to see if she’d heard. He didn’t want her to think he was spying on her. He was, kind of, but he didn’t want her to think he was.

He was mesmerized by her. His first crush had been Cho, and she’d frightened him away with her emotional roller coaster ride. Ginny had been a more comfortable relationship, but that might have been because he’d known her fairly well before they’d begun dating, or what passed for dating during their school time.

Wednesday was different. She displayed none of the teenaged angst from which Cho suffered, and he found he was very tempted to do something, anything, to see what would cause her to let her mask slip, to display humor, or surprise...even anger. He knew she wouldn’t be eighteen for another two months, but she seemed older. He found comfort in that. In many ways, he felt older than his own eighteen years, or his nearly eighteen years, but in other ways... He seemed to have missed out on a lot of what his classmates experienced while he was off hunting down Horcruxes.

She stopped at the edge of the water, standing next to the weeping willow that dropped its branches into the brook. He stood still, watching her look out over the water, and wondered what she was thinking. She turned suddenly, her eyes piercing his through the shadowed distance. Taking a deep breath, he moved forward. “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said. “You seemed like you were trying to solve a problem or something.”

“You’re not disturbing me, unless you insist on hiding,” she answered.

He grinned, hoping to see an answering smile on her face. He was disappointed. She regarded him steadily as he made his way closer. He tried to be nonchalant as he noticed the way the moon highlighted her dark hair, making a silver tiara across her crown and leaving her face in shadow. It might be better that he couldn’t see her eyes clearly; she had a way of disconcerting him. He stopped in front of her.

“How well do you know Tobias?” she asked.

Harry was momentarily taken aback by the question. Without knowing all the details of what Snape might have told the Addams family, he knew he could only too easily muck up what the man was trying to accomplish here, and he didn’t really want to discuss Snape tonight. He was more interested in learning more about the mysterious young woman in front of him.

“We’ve known each other since I was eleven,” he answered. “He was one of my teachers at school.”

Wednesday nodded. “He’s my teacher now,” she said possessively. “I am very determined that he remain my teacher. I don’t want to go back to my old school.” She looked up at Harry defiantly, as if expecting him to argue.

Harry didn’t know where she was going with this, but if he could just keep her talking... “Do you find him to be a good teacher, then?”

“Yes, I do. Didn’t you?”

Harry ducked the question. “Will you graduate after his lessons?”

“Yes,” she answered. “He had planned twenty hours each week, in order to fulfil my requirements. But now, I’m not so sure those plans haven’t been compromised.”

“How so?” Could this be the reason she seemed so cold toward him? Did she think he’d come here to spirit Snape away?

“Decadence.”

He was confused. Thinking back over dinner, he hadn’t seen any indication that Decadence had any ambitions to compete with Wednesday for Snape’s time. “Are you sure? She barely spoke to him.”

“There are plans afoot to marry off the poor unfortunate woman to the first eligible bachelor to happen along unwittingly. They despair of her ever having a normal life.”

“Why? She’s a knock-out! What makes her ‘unfortunate’?”

“She’s _blonde!”_ Wednesday spat, and did not elaborate. Harry decided not to pursue that line of reasoning; it would only confuse him more.

“You’re afraid that if something sparks between them, you’ll no longer have your teacher?”

“I’m afraid of nothing,” she remarked derisively. “But dealing with such interference will be tricky. She is family, after all. I don’t believe my parents would look the other way, or be so forgiving, should something fatal befall our cousin.”

“If Tobias is your cousin,” he pointed out, “and Decadence is also your cousin... nothing could really come of any attraction there, could it?” He thought about the pureblood mania that had swept his own world for so many years, causing cousins to marry cousins, but thought it was different in the Muggle world.

Wednesday waved her hand at him impatiently. “The blood ties are so dilute as to be nonexistent,” she said. “Tobias does seem quite taken with her.”

“But by the time anything serious developed between them, your studies would be finished, wouldn’t they?”

“I doubt it,” she scoffed. “Decadence, by all accounts, must be desperate for a husband by now, and Tobias was practically drooling over her all through dinner.”

“But if the worst came to pass, couldn’t you simply find another teacher?”

“Like you?”

“Me?!”

“Why not?” she answered smoothly. “You’re finished with your education, aren’t you? Why couldn’t you teach me what you’ve learned?”

Thinking back to his experiences with Dumbledore’s Army, and knowing where to find all the references he needed for the more academic aspects of education, he realized it wasn’t all that farfetched a notion. But that diving-into-water-too-deep-in-which-to-swim feeling overtook him, and he stammered, trying to talk his way out of her scheme. Still, she now appeared more interested in him than she had during dinner...

“I suppose it’s not too far off the wall to consider,” he said, stalling. “But don’t you think all this is a bit premature? I can’t see Tobias riding off into the sunset with Decadence any time soon.”

“Well, it’s better to be prepared,” she debated. “I don’t claim to be an easy student, but I do try. I would give you my very best efforts.”

He searched for double meanings behind her words, then wondered if he hadn’t been hoping for something there. “Why don’t we just play it by ear? If Tobias begins to neglect your studies...”

“Then I’ll come to you,” she said, finalizing things. She moved closer to him, lifting her hand to thread her fingers through his hair. He felt a wave of the warm fuzzies move from his scalp, down his reddening face, and all through his body as he breathed in the scent of her soap and the more earthy aroma of her hand. He was hooked.

 

Snape held his composure through the after-dinner conversation in the drawing room. He managed to appear to follow along with whatever drivel Fester was going on about, and had even added some tidbits to the insipid chatter Pugsley was spouting. He answered a few questions about Wednesday’s progress in her studies from Gomez and Morticia, and even forced himself to look Decadence in the eye a couple of times. It hadn’t been easy; her eyes seemed to hold laughter, and he squirmed in his seat, knowing the suppressed laughter was aimed at him. Damn the woman, she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

He heaved a sigh of relief as everyone began getting to their feet. Thank goodness the night was drawing to a close. He knew she’d be on his mind all through the night, but at least there’d be a reprieve. He didn’t like being so disconcerted. He needed space, he needed to analyze the sudden power she had over him.

As he moved to the front door with the others to see her off, his heart seemed to stop beating altogether as she suddenly turned to him.

“Tobias, will you come with me to the concert Friday evening? Of all the people I know, you’re the only one who would really appreciate the music.”

He groaned inwardly. Why had he mentioned his preference for classical music? Still, he found himself agreeing to meet her here at seven. He was torn; part of him wanted to avoid her company because he was overwhelmed by his attraction to her, and the other part wanted to keep her within his sight at all times. His life had never prepared him for this...

He pointedly ignored the smug looks on the faces of the family as he turned tail and almost ran up the steps to his rooms. A generous helping of spirits from his hidden cache, and he’d grab a decent night’s sleep. In the morning, he’d be able to look at this evening more objectively.

He might even feel altruistic enough to warn Potter away from Wednesday. The poor lad hardly knew what he was getting into there...


	10. Things That Go Bump in the Night

Chapter Ten  
Things That Go Bump in the Night

Snape knew he could relax here. The early evening sky was darkening, the stars were bright, and the people strewn about in this open-air concert paid him not the least attention. It was the first time he’d left the Addams’ estate since coming to America, and he looked about appreciatively. Decadence smiled up at him, the laughter in her eyes never changing.

They made themselves comfortable behind the audience. He leaned back against the tree that conveniently appeared behind him, and she leaned against him, making herself comfortable on his chest. He gave in to the temptation to smooth his fingers through her impossibly silken hair, and he felt her hands hot over his shirt, slowly moving down toward his belt buckle.

He willed her to keep on, to be as bold as she dared. It had been far too long since he’d enjoyed the touch of a woman, and this particular woman was worth the risk of being observed. She pulled his shirt open, seemingly without having to undo any buttons, and she lifted it out from his trousers. He felt no surprise that she’d already managed to undo his fly; he had willed it, and she had complied.

She began to stroke his hard cock, her hand strong and sure, and he moaned in appreciation. She braced herself on her other arm for leverage, and her eyes laughed at him as his own hands gripped the lawn under his fists, pulling up the silken blades. She quickened her pace, and his hips began thrusting upward into her fist. His breath was coming out in gasps, and he could hear his own voice rasping, moaning, completely covering the music he couldn’t hear from the bandstand.

_Gods, yes...she was so skilled at this..._ He was getting so close; he could feel the tingle begin in his sac and work its way through him. He pushed against the yielding give of the ground beneath him and thrust his eager cock in and out of her fist, hearing the odd sounds of the tree at his back creak and groan with his movements. _Yes...yes...ah, YES!_

He erupted in a violent explosion, his eyes blurring as his semen spurted from his cock, covering the hairy and disembodied hand that gripped him. He frowned, gasping, taking in the rumpled silk sheets of his bed, the breaking dawn pouring in through the window, and looked again at the hand that couldn’t belong to the very feminine Decadence. He froze, his eyes reluctant to register the impossible sight, and as the hand released his spent cock and jumped down to the floor, he let out a blood-curdling scream...

 

“Ah, it seems Tobias is getting to be one of the family,” Morticia said, sighing softly against Gomez’ chest. “It sounds as though he’s joined Fester on the roof.”

“Are you sure?” Gomez murmured. “It seems a little late to be howling at the moon.”

“What else could it be?

Gomez’ answer was forgotten as a new sound came to his ears. After some scrambling, then the door opening and closing, he watched as Thing fingered his way quickly over the floor. It jumped up onto the windowsill, and stayed there, trembling.

“Thing? Is anything wrong?”

There was no answer, of course, but the trembling seemed to abate somewhat.

“Maybe I’d better take a look around, after all,” Gomez said, moving Morticia gently from his chest. “It’s not like Thing to be so nervous.”

Thing leaped back to the floor, pulling at Gomez’ ankle to prevent him leaving the room. “What is it, Thing?”

The hand on the floor began a series of what could have been dance steps, then ended by pointing toward the hallway.

“Ah, I see,” Gomez lied. “Well, then, we’ll just leave things lie, shall we?”

Thing, relieved, perched again on the windowsill as Gomez slipped back between the sheets, pulling Morticia close once more. “I could be imagining things,” he whispered into her ear, “but is that really a sheepish expression on Thing?”

“What would he have to feel sheepish about?” she answered sleepily. “Perhaps he’s simply been away from home too long, and is unsure about our new guests. They haven’t been properly introduced, after all.”

As they drifted back to sleep, Thing flattened itself onto the marble of the sill, and one finger petulantly pushed aside a dust mote. It seemed to know its presence was appreciated in here, and so it would avoid venturing into the other wing. It wasn’t used to being screamed at...

 

Harry sat up in his bed, his heart hammering in his chest and his breath coming in gasps. He’d been abruptly and rudely awoken from a deep sleep, and he wasn’t entirely sure what had caused his sudden anxiety. Was that scream from his dream? Or had someone in the house...

He darted a look toward the dark shadow that was his door, not feeling particularly compelled to go out and investigate. There were too many strange creakings and moanings around this old house, and he was reasonably sure they weren’t just from settling. There were things alive out there, and, though he felt more or less safe here in this room, his Gryffindor courage was no match for what could be alive in the Addams’ house.

He sat still, waiting until his sweat cooled along his hairline. He watched the moon moving in the sky until his heart slowed to its normal rate. He bided his time until his breathing was no longer audible in his ears. Then he lay back down, his eyes fixed to the beam above his bed. He tried to close his eyes, but they kept popping back open. He tried letting his mind drift away, but it kept coming back to the nebulous memory of the terrified scream he was sure he’d heard.

It was no good; he’d simply have to at least poke his nose out the door and listen for any noises that might suggest all was not well. The decision made, he tossed aside his quilt and settled his feet on the cold, wooden-planked floor, girding his loins for whatever he might find on the other side of the door. It was the only way he’d get back to sleep.

He silently moved across the floor, then lowered the wards he’d instinctively placed around his room. Turning the knob, then opening the door quickly to avoid the incredibly loud squeak of the hinges, he poked his face out into the hallway. The dusky early-morning shadows darkened at the doors to the other bedrooms; he picked out Wednesday’s room, just to his right and across the hall. It appeared to be closed, and he heard nothing beyond it. Shifting his glance to the left, he saw that Pugsley’s door was also closed, and he forced himself to take a few steps away from the dubious safety of his room. He kept near to the wall, to avoid making any noise as he headed toward the far end of the hallway. Here, the landing which led to the adults’ rooms was lit by the bright moonlight coming in at the window, and he looked beyond, trying to make out the shadows that marked the doors of Fester’s room, Gomez and Morticia’s room, and the grandmother’s room--Harry wasn’t sure whose mother she was, Morticia’s or Gomez’.

He crept down the stairs, hesitating each time the old stairway creaked, until he was on the ground floor. Moving into the foyer, he peeked into the sitting room; all quiet there. He turned to check the dining room, and almost lost ten years of his life when he bumped into Lurch.

Removing his teeth from his lips, he looked up, way up, until he met Lurch’s eyes. No expression on that face. Harry couldn’t tell if Lurch took umbrage at seeing a guest poking around ‘his’ house after normal waking hours, or if he was trying to be helpful, but he thought maybe he should assume the best and try not to act guilty.

“I thought I heard a scream,” he tried.

“Yeeeessss,” came the unhelpful reply.

“I thought someone was in trouble,” Harry added. “As if someone needed help?”

Lurch nodded, backing away from Harry and turning toward the kitchen. Nonplussed, Harry followed him. He focused on what he remembered, and determined it was masculine vocal cords that had uttered the shriek. It couldn’t have been Lurch; the butler would, no doubt, be unable to summon the fear or passion necessary to put such pain and terror into any sound. It had sounded too far away to be Gomez or Fester, and Harry was sure he would have recognized Fester’s voice. He’d heard Fester howling at bedtime last night, when Harry had just been entering his room. Wednesday had seen his look of confusion, and had explained, just before turning to enter her own room.

Thinking hard, he realized Pugsley’s voice didn’t quite have that timber of maturity he’d heard in the scream, and so he ruled him out. If it had, in fact, been Gomez, he needn’t be bothered then; Morticia would see to whatever demons plagued her husband in the night. She could very well _be_ one of those demons, and the less Harry learned about that, the better for his own rest.

That left Severus. Snape might have trouble getting any rest in this house. Who knew what nightmares the wizard would have to face down each night? It would hardly be surprising to learn this screaming was a nightly thing. No one else seemed put out by it.

Harry continued dogging Lurch’s footsteps until they entered the kitchen, and was surprised when Lurch pulled out a chair and gestured Harry to sit in it. He felt a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as Lurch went through the motions of brewing tea, and felt he could finally relax. Lurch sat across from him and began pouring the tea, then pushed a plate of biscuits toward Harry.

“Thing,” the gravelly voice murmured.

Harry stared, waiting for more. Lurch obliged.

“Thing has come home. He met Tobias.”

Harry nodded, unsure if he wanted to pursue this. What was _Thing,_ and why would Thing elicit such a scream from Snape? And where was Snape now?

“Is...is Thing dangerous?”

Lurch shook his head gravely.

“But...the scream? Surely I hadn’t imagined that? I think it was Tobias.”

Lurch nodded. “Startled.”

Harry very much doubted that Severus Snape would scream like that at being merely startled. “Shall I go see if Sev...if Tobias needs assistance?”

Lurch shook his head. “Did. He is fine. Thing left.”

Harry nodded as if it all made sense. “Did something about Thing’s appearance cause the scream, do you think?”

Lurch again nodded. “No body. No head. Just Thing.” With those cryptic words, Lurch cleared away the tea things, and as he began rinsing things off in the sink, Harry crept out of the room and headed up the stairs to where he knew Snape’s rooms were. He thought he’d just poke his nose in the door, just to make sure everything was alright, then he’d grab another few hours’ sleep.

He stood at the landing, pulling open the portrait that hid Snape’s wing, then looked down the hall and wondered how Snape rated an entire wing to himself. Trying all the doors as he passed them, he was beginning to feel his reconnaissance mission would be for nothing; all the doors were strongly warded, and he felt suddenly reassured to learn that some things would never change. Snape was just as paranoid and secretive as he’d always been.

He was about to give up and turn back when the last door down the hall opened abruptly. He turned to see Snape’s shadowy form outlined against the brighter room behind him, and he reflexively backed up, sensing the threat in the wizard.

“Potter! Why are you creeping around my rooms?”

“I wanted to see you were okay,” he said, realizing how lame that sounded. “I heard a scream earlier...”

Snape quickly looked away. “It was nothing...” he murmured quietly. “Nightmare. Forget you heard it.”

“I thought that might be it. Lurch mentioned something about a Thing?”

Snape looked up at him sharply. _“What?!”_

Harry began to shift uncomfortably. Could Lurch have been pulling his leg? A droll sense of twisted humor, perhaps?

“Thing,” he repeated. “I didn’t understand what all he said, but he did mention something about no body, no head...that Thing’s appearance startled you...”

“What else did Lurch say when you grilled him?” Snape asked, the menace apparent in his voice.

“Nothing. Really, he was more confusing than enlightening. Why? What is this Thing he was talking about?”

Snape stood to his full height, and looked haughtily down his nose at Harry. “I sincerely hope you find out for yourself soon, Potter. Now go back to bed and try to get some sleep. Peaceful rest may prove to be a rare event around here...”

“But what’s Thing?” Harry insisted.

Snape narrowed his eyes at him, then turned back toward his room, throwing his last words over his shoulder.

“Talk to the hand, Potter...”


	11. In the Pink

Chapter Eleven  
In the Pink

Macnair chewed on the wooden toothpick, spitting out slivers on unsuspecting Muggles passing by. He stared, unseeing, at the bustle before him, his mind working hard. Malfoy had been no help, and because he knew he’d frightened the arrogant wizard, he also knew Malfoy would have used whatever contacts he still had to alert the American Department of Magical Dealings of impending trouble.

Therefore, America must know Severus Snape was in their midst, and also that he was being pursued. Would the Americans help protect the cowering, hiding wizard? Or would they simply look the other way, while Macnair, doing everyone else’s dirty work, as usual, simply removed the troublesome being from their peaceful status quo?

Being one of life’s natural pessimists, he had to assume he’d meet resistance at every turn. If he were wrong in this, it would be a bonus to get any help he could along the way. Knowing the fears and weaknesses of man, both Muggle and wizard, he was comforted in that there would always be dissidents in the ranks, and he was counting on his former allies for information, if nothing else. They must know something; after all, every magical being, whether human, animal, or plant, was kept under surveillance. The intensity of that surveillance was determined by the history of the magical entity in question.

With Snape’s background, there must already be a thick file on his movements since he’d broken through the wall of Magical Customs, but Macnair would have to tread carefully. It was never easy for a man, or especially an entire department, to admit someone had breached their wards so effortlessly. He’d have to go to one who didn’t have much in pride in his work, someone who was only in it for the wages.

Someone like Purdue.

Purdue had been a Macnair-fan early in his career, back when he’d tried to make a go of it in England. He’d worked briefly in security at Azkaban before washing out there--he’d been too easily susceptible to bribery--but Macnair had considered him a valuable contact to maintain. With the way things had gone way back when everyone thought Voldemort had died after killing the Potters, Macnair had thought perhaps he might follow Purdue to America. But funds had been low, and he’d worked at various manual labor jobs; eventually the pull of overseas adventure had eased.

They’d maintained a correspondence of sorts, and Macnair knew Purdue had managed to secure a position in America’s equivalent of the Ministry of Magic.

Macnair focused on the board before him, and he checked the timetable for the next train to Washington, D.C. He had Snape’s new alias, courtesy of the tortured clerk at Heathrow, and by the same means knew Snape’s destination. It would be enough, he knew, to ferret out the rest of the data he needed to close in on his prey.

 

Harry pushed on through the morning fog, listening for the sound of Snape’s agitated footsteps. He really didn’t want to venture off the path; he had a feeling to do so would be to get lost forever, and he had doubts anyone would bother sending a search party in after him. After his introduction to a grave marker the last time he’d been in this cemetery, he was in no rush to meet any of the other Addams ancestors.

He heard the sound of the brook, and then muttered swearing. Following it, he soon made out the dark shape of Snape, who was angrily hurling pebbles over the brook.

“It takes a certain kind of stone to skip properly,” he said, satisfied to see the other wizard jump at his voice. It wasn’t often Snape could be caught off guard, Harry was sure, and he felt decidedly pleased at having startled him.

“I would think someone of your stature and build would work much better,” Snape snidely replied. “What are you doing prowling around here at this hour?”

“I could ask the same of you,” Harry answered, not in the least intimidated or offended. “You act as though you hadn’t slept well.” He looked away quickly when Snape shot him a glare, but refused to back away. Looking back at Snape, he saw the narrowed eyes and began to regret having followed him.

“I have been traumatized,” Snape said quietly. “And I don’t want to hear another thinly-veiled reference to last night from you, nor anyone else. How long are you planning to stay, by the way? You have another year of school to get through, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure I’m going back. I mean,” he qualified, “I will go back, I just haven’t decided whether or not to return to Hogwarts. What about you?”

“What _about_ me?”

Harry stuck his hands in his pockets and scuffled his feet uncertainly. He really was taking liberties, he knew. Less than a year ago, he would never have dared to question Snape about his private life. But the playing field had changed so much now...

“I mean, you do plan to return one day, don’t you?”

“Certainly not. Gomez had gone through a lot of trouble to arrange my new identity for me; I burned what few bridges I had behind me...” His voice trailed off.

“You sound as though you’re wavering,” Harry pointed out.

Snape sneered at him and returned to gaze out over the brook. Harry’s hand closed around something; he pulled it from his pocket and turned it on. He hadn’t given the Scarab a thought since he’d first come to the estate, and he checked to see that, yes, Snape was wearing the same overcoat he’d been wearing on the train from Hogsmeade. Harry turned a dial on the box, and the shapes of landmarks, same as they’d been just before he’d knocked on the door, were now more familiar. Most of them seemed to be grave markers. But one detail alarmed him.

The background of the image was pink.

He turned the box to catch the limited light of the morning at a different angle. The pink hue remained. Glancing up to Snape, checking that it was, in fact, the same overcoat, he moved closer to him.

“Severus? You haven’t removed the Scarab, have you?”

“The Scarab...? Oh, that. I’d quite forgotten. You did mention I had something that belonged to you, didn’t you? I’ll give it to you when you’re leaving. So, the sooner you leave...”

“Check your coat.”

“Don’t be so presumptuous as to start issuing orders to me, Potter--”

“Look!” He held out the box, and watched the always-apparent line deepen between Snape’s eyebrows. “You know what that means, don’t you?” he asked.

Snape reached down, running his hands over the lower hem of his coat. His hand stopped momentarily, then he lifted the coat, peering at the underside of it. The Scarab hung there, its phosphorescent eye blinking out a muted signal. He pulled it off his coat, holding it in his hand briefly, before walking to a large rock on the other side of the tree and setting it down. Walking back to Harry, he peered once again at the box in Harry’s hand.

It was blank. Snape took it from him, fiddling with the dials. “It only works when in closer proximity to someone. Go pick it up, if you would.”

Harry obliged, picking up the Scarab, then watching Snape study the screen.

“I see the grave markers,” he said, “but the background screen is grey.”

“Because I’m not the one in danger,” Harry pointed out. “Do you still think Wednesday causes that?”

“For all I know, it could be Thing,” came the morose reply, baffling Harry.

“In any event, I think you should continue to wear the Scarab.”

“Why? So you can continue to track my movements, as though I were some kind of animal you’re studying?” Snape reached back, cocking his arm to throw the Scarab out across the brook. Harry rushed to grab him before he could do it.

“No!” he cried out. He wrenched the Scarab away from him. “Okay, you don’t want to wear it; fine. But I can’t believe that you, the most alert and wary wizard I know, would just completely disregard a warning like this. Someone could be hunting you down right now!”

Snape paused, fixing a cold eye on Harry. Harry stood his ground, waiting him out.

“Keep it, then,” Snape said. “Just don’t get it in your thick skull that you’re going to plant it on me again. You might consider wearing it yourself if you continue to encourage Wednesday’s attentions.”

Harry grinned wickedly. “She’s asked me to tutor her, you know,” he said.

“Has she?” Snape’s eyes narrowed warningly. “You may have friends and safe harbor to return to, Potter, but I don’t. A former Potions Master is not exactly a position that invites hundreds of Muggle job offers, and if you do anything to remove my only current source of income, there will be hell to pay...”

“She’s only worried that Decadence will steal you away from her,” Harry said. “She seems very keen on her studies.”

“Be that as it may, you will not interfere. I am her teacher, and I will remain so. As pointless as it seems to be.”

“Really? Why do you bother, then? Or is it just the money?”

“It’s what I do, Potter. I teach. And I must admit, to have a student so eager to learn, to give every effort, even though it’s all the wrong subjects...” He cleared his throat, then seemed to push away from the subject mentally. “There are worse ways to earn a living,” he concluded.

“She flatters your ego, doesn’t she?”

“Well, it’s more than you ungrateful brats at Hogwarts ever did.”

“What about Hermione?” Harry asked. “She was one of your most eager students.”

“She was seeking approval,” Snape rejoined. “It was never about learning, not with that one. All she was ever looking for was that little pat on the head and the assurance that she was better than the rest. It was annoying and pitiful. I realize you have her on a pedestal, Potter, but your friend, Miss Granger, had some serious self-image issues.”

“Don’t we all?” Harry asked pointedly. “I can’t believe you could just wipe out your existence and begin a new life, without thinking about everyone you left behind.”

“I tried my best,” he shot back. “Then you showed up, demanding to speak to me, thereby shooting down all my careful planning. Why don’t you simply return home and concentrate on your own future?”

“I think that’s what I’m doing,” Harry answered. Without elaborating, he turned on his heel, both the Scarab and its box in hand, and tried to find the footpath in the slowly-lifting morning fog.

 

What did that meddling wizard mean? He’s going home? Or he’s making plans for his future?

Snape forced his mind away from the conversation. He’d been annoyed to find Potter had followed him out here; he considered it his own time, time away from his teaching duty, time away from the overwhelming presence of his new-found relatives, and time away from that...whatever it was that had found a way past his wards and into his room this morning. Suppressing a shudder at the memory and shock of it, he reached down to grab a small handful of the wrong kinds of pebbles and began trying to skim them out over the surface of the brook.

He was looking forward to the concert tomorrow night. He doubted anything would come of it; one night in his company would probably suffice to discourage the lovely young Decadence. But it would at least fuel his fantasies for quite some time to come. If ever he could remove that unwanted memory of this morning from his mind, an evening of flirting with Decadence could only help.

Flirting?

Did he even know how to flirt? It was something only those who were secure in their own charms could do. He’d never even tried it, and had no idea where to start. Remembering the spark of mischief he’d seen in her eyes, he thought perhaps he’d simply follow her lead, and to hell with the outcome. And if she turned away in disgust, it would be no more than he expected. If she ran away screaming... Well, she was familiar with the Addamses. Doubtful she’d be inclined to run from him, at least.

And if something encouraging did develop?

He was aware the family was in despair over Decadence’s failure to secure a husband, now that she was, in their eyes, an over-the-hill spinster. He scoffed, realizing she couldn’t be more than thirty. Did that mean they would soon be pushing Wednesday to settle down? Her eighteenth birthday was approaching. He pitied the poor devil who’d be saddled with her. The man would, if he had any sense at all, be too wary of his bride to close his eyes in sleep.

He slowly began making his way out of the cemetery, dropping the un-skipped pebbles along the way. Startled by a shadow of a hawk flying overhead, he frowned, disappointment strong inside him as the bird continued away, not stopping to deliver any messages.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed home. How much he would have loved to hear from Minerva, who thought he was dead, and Lucius, who no doubt wished he were dead. He wondered what Draco was up to, and if Potter had seen either of them before leaving England.

He quickened his steps, heading back to the house and Potter. Stopping short at the edge of the cemetery, he watched as Wednesday and Potter moved closer to one another and disappeared around the side of the house. Momentarily tempted to take Potter aside and warn him away from the mysterious and sinister young lady, he decided it was none of his business. If a romance was developing there, let Potter deal with it himself. Surely, Wednesday couldn’t be worse than Potter’s experiences with Voldemort. Or Bellatrix Lestrange. Or any of the other nasty beasties that helped shaped Potter into the wizard he now was.

“Fore!”

He ducked instantly, and heard the golf ball whizzing past his head. Looking up to a balcony at the side of the house, he waved back at Gomez, pointedly ignored that slimy hand, and nodded civilly to Lurch. He turned and headed into the house and the kitchen, taking himself out of driving range and looking forward to a quiet cup of tea.


	12. It's Too Calm

Chapter Twelve  
It’s Too Calm...

Macnair peered through the Muggle vision-enhancing lenses to the sprawling estate below him. He was perched high up on the hill, securely hidden in a group of boulders, and the setting sun was behind him. He knew he wouldn’t be seen by anyone who might happen to look his way.

He spotted Harry Potter down below; he’d know that face anywhere. That was the face that had been plastered all over _The Daily Prophet_ since the War, and the dialogue between him and Voldemort had been recorded for posterity for all to revisit time and time again.

There was no logical reason for Potter to be here other than to mingle with other wizards. Therefore, the chap standing apart from the group below just had to be Snape. Macnair kept his sights trained on that one, waiting to see him walk, waiting to see what tell-tale gestures he might use in ordinary discourse. A simple Glamor could mask physical features, but he’d never heard of a charm that could change body language.

The group below seemed to be celebrating something. There were the remains of a feast on tables near the back porch of the house, and more people were milling about than Macnair knew lived there. He’d been watching the house for almost a month now, and felt secure in his belief that eight of those people were in residence; the rest were merely visiting for the day.

He paid special attention to the blonde woman. She stood out from the rest with her fair features, and she was the only one who kept going back to the man Macnair suspected was Snape. She might be good for some information if he could catch her alone. Perhaps he should follow her exit. If he could determine where she lived, he could watch until he learned her schedule. Things went more smoothly for him if he could catch his target off-guard; perhaps he could gain entry to her flat while she was away, then surprise her when she returned.

It would take longer to reach his goal that way, but then again, he had plenty of time.

 

Snape surveyed the crowd with a jaundiced eye. Wednesday had turned eighteen years old today, and Morticia had insisted on making it a big event. It wasn’t really; she wasn’t a year older, she was merely a day older than yesterday, after all. Still, he didn’t begrudge Wednesday her day. In some ways, she still maintained the innocence of youth. In others... She hadn’t had the normal social conventions most of her peers had experienced, and it made for a lopsided maturity. Perhaps this was her time to catch up and try for some sort of equilibrium.

Thinking back to his own coming-of-age rites, he was again aware of the differences between this world and the one he’d left behind. He’d been considered a man at seventeen, as opposed to the American insistence that another year was required for it. Not only was his age of maturity different than his American cousins, but it had been different than most of his own peers as well.

There had been no celebration marking his milestone birthday. There had been no social doors opened to him until such time as he’d been initiated into the Death Eaters’ inner circle. That particular event had nothing to do with age. His own upbringing had been lopsided, like Potter’s, and even a bit like Wednesday’s, but in very different ways. Potter had never really been a group scape-goat, something to be ridiculed and scorned, although he had been set apart for very different reasons.

Wednesday seemed to have set herself apart by choice.

Was he mellowing with age? He now realized that Potter had never sought to be set apart from the others; on the contrary, he’d only wished to be left to struggle his way through adolescence much the same way as his friends. He hadn’t asked to survive Voldemort’s attempt on his life; it had just happened, through forces over which the baby he’d been had no control.

If he’d been one to follow rules, Voldemort might well have made off with the Sorcerer’s Stone, might have managed to kill several students before being stopped, and if he hadn’t taught students--behind Dumbledore’s back--to fight so ferociously, they couldn’t have helped defeat Voldemort in the end.

And where would they all be now? He couldn’t claim, with any conviction, that he’d have been able to continue on for long, the way things had been. How much longer could he have gone on biding his time until Voldemort made clear his return? How much more strength could he have had to continue playing both sides, relaying selected bits of information, covering his own arse, always looking over his shoulder for the treachery of his enemies?

It all had to end somehow, some way, and Snape again wondered if all Albus’ manipulations were for the better or for the worse. It was in man’s nature to try to control everything around him, and he usually couldn’t find fault with Albus. How much of his tolerance was based on the affection he felt for Albus? How much was based on his exhaustion in trying to find rhyme or reason for any of it?

He looked up as Decadence made her way over to him. He felt a warmth inside as she smiled at him, and it was a warmth he was getting used to. It was almost frightening, the way their relationship was developing so easily. He’d enjoyed the concert she’d taken him to, in spite of the flashbacks of his introduction to Thing, and they’d found many reasons since to enjoy each other’s company. His natural reserve prevented him from pushing for a more physical sort of thing, but he was aware she was interested. Each time he’d been tempted to touch her, to look into her eyes longer than he was in the habit of doing, he’d backed down.

She didn’t seem to hold it against him, and for that he was grateful. All this was new to him; he hadn’t had much experience with women, and as tempted as he was to sample her enticing attributes, he was that reluctant to make the wrong move. If she shied away from him, or turned away in sudden disinterest, he knew he’d never venture down such a path again, no matter how attractive and attentive a woman might prove to be.

“Have you had enough to eat?” she asked as she neared him. “Morticia and Grandmama are beginning to clear everything away.”

“More than enough,” he answered, smiling. “I do believe I’ll skip the cake and ice cream bit.”

“Me, too. I think I’d rather walk off dinner. Care to join me?”

He smiled, pushing himself away from the tree he’d been leaning against to follow her. A flash of light from the hills caught his eye, and he looked up to see what had caused it, squinting into the setting sun. He could see nothing, but the hair on the back of his neck stood up anyway. Light wouldn’t reflect in such a way off rocks or trees. Something metallic was up there, and was no longer reflecting the sun. Something had moved.

He steered Decadence away from that direction, urging her instead to walk down the garden path toward the other side of the estate. He needed to check things out further, but this was not the time. He knew, just as he knew his Glamor was a pathetic attempt to hide, that he was being hunted.

It was almost enough to make him reconsider carrying Potter’s Scarab around with him.

 

“Have you been able to reach Severus?” Minerva asked Albus’ portrait as she stirred her tea. “I would have thought we’d hear from him by now.”

“I’m afraid my contact with him is severely limited,” he answered quietly. “I know he carries my photograph in his wallet, but unless he looks at it, there’s nothing I can do.”

“You know what name he’s using these days, though, don’t you? If I could at least send a Muggle letter out to him--”

“You’re not supposed to know,” he reminded her. “This wouldn’t be a good time for him to become upset with me.”

“Why? Is something going on I’d want to know about?”

“Everything has to be timed carefully. If he too soon feels any sort of pressure to return, he’ll just dig his heels in and muck up my plans.”

“You never did tell me much what those plans were, Albus.”

“Simply to bring him back to the bosom of his friends, Minerva. Sometimes one has to leave home in order to find it, and he has to realize certain things on his own. It’s not enough to be told.”

“What things?” she asked persistently.

“Nothing specific. He could make a go of it over there; he could find acceptance and a new life. But he’ll never be happy. He’ll always feel like an outsider. Once he realizes he has somewhere he really belongs, he can begin to accept himself for what and who he is.”

“But what will it take for him to get to that point? You’ve been trying to teach him his own worth since he was a student here; why is it so difficult for him to accept?”

“Oh, that’s something that began in his early childhood, Minerva. I can’t undo what his past was. I can’t go back and take away the envy he’d always felt toward others. Other children who could form friendships so easily, other students who came from wealthy families, colleagues who’d been recognized for their accomplishments when his were, and had to be, ignored.”

“The Ministry is making preparations for his Order of Merlin awarding ceremony,” she said thoughtfully. “I wonder if he knows about that.”

“If Harry has found him, I would think so.”

“You don’t even know if Potter has found him yet?”

“Again, Minerva, I have no way to contact him. And, as far as I know, Harry doesn’t have a photo of me, so I can’t communicate with him either.”

“Well, surely Potter must be in contact with Hermione Granger and the Weasleys?”

“It seems as though you’ve found a way to expend some of your nervous energy, Minerva. If you do find a way to get in touch with either Harry or Severus, do send along my request for Severus to look into his wallet, will you?”

“As a favor to you, Albus, yes, I’ll pass that along. But only if you promise to let me know the moment you hear from him.”

“Of course, Minerva.”

 

Harry casually draped his arm over the back of the sofa, wondering if Wednesday noticed. She didn’t seem to, but he was getting to know her well enough to be certain he’d never know what she was thinking. But as long as she hadn’t moved away, there was no reason to assume she didn’t return his interest.

She hadn’t made any more noises about wanting him to tutor her, and so he hadn’t brought it up. He was much more interested in getting to know her, and he’d much rather believe her interest in him had nothing to do with what he might be able to teach her.

“Have you ever been to Massachusetts?” she asked.

“No, I haven’t. Have you?”

“Not yet. I’m hoping to go there next year. My mother said she and my father would decide whether or not I can go once I get through this final year of school.”

“Did you have trouble in school?”

“I always had trouble in school,” she replied. “But it’s much better now that I’m taking my lessons at home.”

“What subjects give you the most trouble?”

She looked at him, surprise on her face. “What makes you think I had difficulty with the curriculum?”

“Well, what kind of trouble did you mean?”

She shrugged, looking away. “They don’t understand me,” she said. “They stifle my natural curiosity.”

“Curiosity about what?”

“About life...mortality...theological issues, life after death...”

“But how would those interests cause trouble for you?”

“Well, if they won’t teach me these things, I have to learn them on my own, don’t I? They don’t approve of my methods.”

_What_ methods? Dare he ask? Wednesday casually leaned closer to him, resting her hand on his leg. His entire body tensed and heated up, and as he leaned into her tentative kiss, he struggled to remember where everyone else had gone.

Snape and Decadence had taken off about the same time as the other relatives began leaving, and he’d seen Morticia in the kitchen, supervising the distribution of leftover food to those that straggled behind. Lurch was never easy to keep track of, and Pugsley had last been seen heading out toward the outbuilding that Harry suspected was a sort of a lab/workshop. Wednesday’s grandmother was fretting about the kitchen, protesting everything Morticia did, and Gomez was playing with something loud in his study.

He kept his lips pressed to Wednesday’s and slowly opened his eyes, only to start suddenly and break the kiss. “Why don’t you close your eyes?” he asked her.

“Am I supposed to?” She reached up and carefully removed his glasses. “You have nice eyes,” she murmured as she leaned to kiss him again. Her hand was causing all sorts of anxiety-inducing and thrilling things to happen to him, and he only had time to wonder if he was up to teaching Wednesday anything.

Perhaps it was he who was the student now, and he eagerly followed where she led him.


	13. Plans, Fears, and Hopes

Chapter Thirteen  
Plans, Fears, and Hopes

Macnair looked at his reflection in the mirror over the bathroom sink. He’d never been skilled with Glamors, had never felt the need, but he was satisfied with what he saw. Though his features were the same as they’d been for the last several years, the scars had faded, and his weather-worn skin looked younger. At least he wouldn’t frighten her with his looks.

It was enough for him to know he could inspire terror by his actions. Everything else was a cheat. He opened the mirror, checking out the bottles and tubes he found inside. Muggle women used more potions than mediwizards did, and he didn’t see how it helped anything. Sure, some of these mysterious things could make them look younger, healthier, but it was only superficial. Why did they bother?

He shook his head, losing interest. He’d never tried to understand women. They were only good for one thing, and he normally made sure he was facing the backs of their heads for that. Funny how women never came up with potions that made their arses look younger and healthier.

He moved out of the bathroom, entering the kitchen to see what sort of eating habits this woman had. He opened the refrigerator and saw nameless things in plastic bowls, liquids in screw-top bottles, and eggs. Lots of eggs. This woman fed armies, presumably.

Her cabinets were neatly stacked, dinner plates, cups, saucers, and bowls lined up and piled up in an order that guaranteed they wouldn’t fall out when the door was opened. Her sink was empty of dirty dishes, and the room smelled as if it were cleaned regularly. He’d already checked out the bedroom, and saw no evidence of a man in residence. Not even an extra dressing gown or change of clothing. He wondered if Snape ever spent time here.

Not a wizard who was man enough to leave his mark, apparently.

Then again, he knew Snape well enough to know he wouldn’t make a habit of leaving a trail to follow. Other than a forgotten Slytherin scarf, that is.

He moved to the room off the hallway, spotting a roll-top desk in the corner. He lifted back the top, peering into the many cubbyhole compartments, pushing aside scraps of paper, pens, pencils, paper clips. Pulling open the drawer, he sifted through bank statements, an address book, a pocket calendar...

He opened the calendar, scanning it to see what constituted this woman’s social life. Ah, pay dirt. Checking the entries for September, he noted the entries. There, on the 24th, he saw a notation: Wed. B-day @ Addams’. That would be the day he’d spied on them from the hillside and had found Potter and Snape.

Paging ahead to October, he looked for similar notes. There were three dates blocked out for appointments, the 3rd, the 13th, and the 18th. The 3rd and 13th had already passed, and he checked his watch to see today’s date. Pushing the buttons to reveal the features of the space-aged Muggle timepiece, he saw a crescent moon coming, it was 5:26 p.m. in New York, low tide in Honalulu, the tip for the day was, “Do not meddle in the affairs of trolls, for you are crunchy and good with ketchup.” He noted the date: October 18. Bulls-eye.

Checking her calendar once more, he saw that she would be attending a party with the Addamses at the Smythe residence. Did that mean all the Addamses?

That would make things easier for him. Forget the woman and go right to the source. Perhaps it was time to see if he could do a little more breaking and entering. He could be sitting in Snape’s room, waiting for the unsuspecting wizard to return home from his party. Might even have time to get that nasty little Potter kid while he was at it.

 

Muggle money. Snape fingered it wonderingly. He’d just cashed another check from Gomez—his income for tutoring Wednesday. His previous checks had gone straight into his new Muggle bank account; he’d not needed cash on hand. His needs were being seen to. The old lady of the kitchen fed him, and he had to admit, she was a good cook, as long as he didn’t dwell for too long on what his food was before she’d cooked it. He had a decrepit roof over his head, and all Wednesday’s textbooks were purchased by Gomez himself.

But now he wanted cash. It was the first time in his life he’d held so much Muggle cash in his hand. He’d only begun earning a living after graduating from Hogwarts, and he’d been paid in Galleons and Sickles. But it would take Muggle cash to purchase meals in restaurants and theater tickets to entertain Decadence. He looked once again at the bills in his hand. It looked so much less significant than wizard money.

He headed out of the bank toward the street, reaching for his wallet. As he opened it to put the cash inside, he caught sight of Albus’ picture. It had been empty the last time he’d seen it, but now Albus was waving his hands frantically, asking Severus for an audience.

After looking around, seeing pedestrians roaming about, he folded his wallet on Albus and headed to the park, hoping to find a quiet bench. He didn’t want anyone to see him talking to his wallet.

He found a bench, shaded by a tree he couldn’t identify, and the only other people around were off in the distance, feeding ducks in the pond on the other side of the park. He again pulled out his wallet.

“I thought you were going to ignore me,” came the mild rebuke.

“I’m living among Muggles, Albus. I can’t be seen talking to a photograph.”

“I had begun to despair of your need for your wallet. I’ve been wanting to talk to you for months.”

“Well, now you have my attention. Why were you trying to contact me, by the way? Were you going to warn me of Potter’s coming?”

“Ah, he’s found you, then. I had wondered.”

“He’s staying here,” Snape told him. “We seem destined to annoy each other. I fear I might have done something unforgivable in my past life to face this sort of karma now.”

“I did try, Severus. He wouldn’t be swayed. I, of course, told him nothing.”

“So, you had Minerva speak instead?”

The blue eyes twinkled, but Albus denied nothing. “I wanted to make sure you knew that certain enquiries have been made about you. I’m not talking about Potter now.”

“Who, then?” He remembered the glint of light reflecting off something up on the hill at Addams’ estate on the day of Wednesday’s birthday celebration.

“It was Macnair. It’s known to some now that you had stopped at the inn in Hogsmeade. The landlady there is probably still cursing you.”

“Is she all right?” Snape was well aware of Macnair’s tactics. He would never ask for information he’d rather get by force.

“She’ll survive. She’s been through worse in her lifetime. I can’t help but wonder why Macnair is so determined to find you.”

“A personal grudge, I suspect. He’d always believed in me, and I’m sure he felt betrayed upon learning of my duplicity. He’s not one to be made a fool of.”

“You will watch your back, I trust? You know what he’s capable of.”

“Only too well, Albus. I fear he might already have found me. I’m being watched.”

“Keep your wand handy, Severus. Save yourself first; you can always take care of witnesses later. However, if you could manage to capture him instead... The Ministry is still trying to locate him. They don’t believe he’ll be attending his own trial.”

Snape was taken aback. This didn’t sound like the Albus he knew. Was he actually condoning violence? “Albus, I detect something in your voice that currently eludes me. As I should already be dead, what reason could you have for making sure I survive?”

“I never really felt it was your time, Severus. This should be a new beginning for you.”

“Then you’re not going to try to convince me to come back? Why don’t I believe that?”

“I only want you to have the happy life you should have had.”

The duck feeders were heading this way, and Severus whispered a quick goodbye to Albus, tucked his wallet into his pocket, and left the park. Looking around as he walked, he made a mental note to begin wearing the Scarab, and carrying its counterpart screen with him. Macnair would most likely show up at the most inopportune moment, and he had no wish to expose Decadence to his past life.

 

Harry felt his body grow cold as he looked at the condom. It had broken, and there was no telling now exactly _when_ it had broken. He glanced guiltily at the bathroom door, where Wednesday had disappeared after she had introduced Harry to the often thought about, but never before experienced, mysterious and mind-boggling world of sex.

He’d felt nothing amiss while he and Wednesday were... Well, he wouldn’t, would he? There were too many sensations happening at once, and he couldn’t expect to know the condom failed; he’d had no experience to draw on. But as he held the worrisome, broken piece of latex in his handkerchief-covered hand, he suspected that what dripped from it was only a small part of what he’d put into it.

He should never have used it for a pen. He’d clearly weakened it. Perhaps that last Transfiguration was once too often. He shut his eyes in dread at the thought of facing Gomez Addams to explain to him that he’d gotten his only daughter pregnant. He was sure that beneath that bonhomie lay a passionate and frightening fire, and Harry had no desire to tap into it.

He opened his eyes, startled, as Wednesday came out of the loo, a flimsy motel dressing gown wrapped around her. Her eyes shot to what Harry held in his hand, and he sat up quickly, knowing his guilt was written all over his face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He held it up for her inspection. “It broke. I’m not sure, but... I think we may as well not have tried to use one.”

She said nothing, but sat on the edge of the bed thoughtfully.

He folded the evidence up in his handkerchief, tossing it into the waste bin at the side of the wardrobe. “Wednesday, no matter what... we’ll handle it, okay?”

“Of course we will, Harry,” she said, her voice devoid of anything hysterical. He wasn’t sure if he should worry about that or not.

“If you are... What will your parents say?”

“They’ll be planning a wedding, of course. But don’t worry; they wouldn’t hold a gun to your head. It will still be our decision.” She turned to face him. “I’m not one to insist on marriage, but I would like to know you’d not abandon me.”

“I wouldn’t,” he assured her. “I would want to raise my son or daughter.”

She smiled at him, and though he was relieved to know she wouldn’t fall apart, he could barely repress the shudder that went through him at her cruel eyes. Was it his imagination, or was there really a hint of something sinister there?

“Harry, what plans did you make once you’ve seen Tobias? Are you going back home?”

“Eventually, yes.” He had never planned anything different, but now the subject was on the table, and he realized he didn’t want to leave Wednesday. Wondering if she might be persuaded to do some traveling, he began to think of how life would be in London with Wednesday in tow. “What plans do you have?” he asked.

“I had been planning on continuing my education,” she answered. “I suppose I could do that anywhere, really. I’m sure there are many American citizens studying in England, right?”

“You would consider coming back with me?”

“I would consider it, yes. I know I would fit into your world much easier than I will ever fit into this one.”

“What would your parents say?”

“They think very highly of Tobias, so they would most likely accept his world as well. It’s not as though I’d never see my family again.”

Harry smiled, wondering what Hermione and Ron would make of Wednesday. In many ways, she was like Snape, and Snape was someone they’d all gotten used to.

He shuddered suddenly. What was wrong with him that he could be attracted to a female version of Snape?

 

“Come now, Venus,” Gomez ordered. “Open up. It’ll probably do your digestion no good anyway.”

The carnivorous plant hesitated, her mandible-like petals clamped tightly around her quarry. Gomez held his ground, shifting his weight to one leg and glaring sternly at the plant. With a petulant cough, she ejected a small mass from her large bud, then straightened her stem and turned toward the window, ignoring Gomez.

Gomez moved closer to the discharge. It was difficult to recognize, but at least it was moving. Lurch would be happy to know he wouldn’t have to go in after it with the tongs. Venus was always so difficult to get along with if anything had to be forcibly taken from her jaws.

The brown matter on the floor stood on two small feet, then puffed up and shook out what turned out to be feathers. It hooted indignantly at Gomez, squawked its temper at the effrontery to its dignity, then flew out the window farthest from Venus. Gomez turned to watch Morticia glide into the room.

“What was that, Gomez?”

“Just something Venus caught, Tish. It seemed intact, so no need for the horticulturist to make a house call. But I fear Venus will be giving us the silent treatment for a while.”

“It looked like an owl,” she murmured.

“Could have been. A bit on the small side for it, though.”

“Oh, dear. Did you see what was on its leg?”

“Something it cleaned out from between Venus’ teeth, I should think.”

“No, I believe it might have been a message. I had completely forgotten about it, but I had meant to tell you of Tobias’ rather unique way of receiving messages. I do believe the call he was waiting for just flew out the window. Do you suppose it’ll be back?”

“If so, I hope it chooses a different window. I can’t keep denying Venus her appetite. You remember what happened the last time we forced a fast on her.”

“Yes, Gomez. Luckily, Cousin Itt’s hair hides the scars.”

“What message is Tobias waiting for?”

“He didn’t say. Only that the message might come by way of owl.” She shrugged, her mind already on other things. “Wednesday has asked to speak to both of us in the sitting room. Are you free?”

“Did she look guilty or cunning?”

“A bit of both, I think.”

“Are any of our neighbors on the missing persons list?”

“If so, it’s too soon for the public to be aware.”

“Okay, let’s go. It’s always better to know than not. Cunning, you say? If she needs more than her normal request, she’ll have to wait until the end of the fiscal quarter. Fester’s legal fees have thinned out the ready cash.”

“I do wish Fester would meet someone who wouldn’t press charges,” Morticia remarked. “He seems so difficult to please lately.”

“I’m not sure a pulse is such a demanding trait to seek. Don’t worry, Tish; there’s someone out there for Fester.”

“But, Gomez, didn’t you hear him last night? His howling is reaching a higher pitch. He’s getting desperate.”

“Fear not, _cara mia._ That was only Thing, demanding Fester’s attention.”

“Ah, yes. That would explain Fester’s limping around all day with watering eyes. I believe Thing has been working out.”

“Yes, indeed. That reminds me, Thing needs more lye soap and bleach in his bath kit. Fester is aptly named.”

“You do remember the Smythes’ party is tonight, don’t you?” Morticia began leading the way to the sitting room. “Tobias said he and Decadence would bring Harry and Wednesday with them in Decadence’s car.”

“Yes, Lurch has been practicing his dance steps all day. I think he has his eye on the Smythes’ maid.”

They entered the sitting room, where Harry was fidgeting nervously on the sofa and Wednesday was standing at the window, her back to them. She turned as they came in, a brilliant smile on her face. It made Morticia’s heart skip a beat, and she quickly sat down.

“Wednesday? Whatever can be wrong, my darling?”

“Nothing is wrong, Mother. Why do you ask?”

“I suppose it was the expression on your face.” She glanced at Harry, seeing no sign of pain or terror on his face. Why, then, the unprecedented smile from Wednesday?

“Harry and I are planning a future together, Mother, Father. We’d like your blessing.”

“A future?” Gomez asked. “Are we talking about marriage? It’s a bit sudden, isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily marriage,” Wednesday replied. “Maybe in time, but I want to return to England with Harry. I can take my university schooling there, if you’ll help with costs.”

Morticia looked at Harry, deciding he didn’t look as though he were being forced into anything. Although it was difficult to catch his eye, he did look a bit smug. It was quite different from the way previous acquaintances of Wednesday’s had looked. He lacked that ‘victim’ countenance that she would have expected to see.

“Was this your idea, Harry?” she asked him.

“It’s mutual, Mrs. Addams,” he assured her. “I have a home there already, and it would be easy for Wednesday to commute to her classes every day. I have job offers, so income would not be a problem.”

“What about your studies now, Wednesday?” Gomez asked. “Tobias has made no mention of leaving. How will you continue?”

“This isn’t going to happen tomorrow, Father. I have less than fifty hours to go, and once I have my diploma, I can enroll in university in London.”

Morticia had known this day would come soon, but she also knew she wouldn’t be prepared for it. Her baby leaving the nest? “When will we ever see you?”

“I’ll make sure we’re not cut off from you,” Harry put in. “There are holidays; we can travel here or you can travel there...”

“And what sort of career are you planning, Harry?” Gomez asked. “You’ll be able to support both you and Wednesday while she’s in school?”

“No problem, sir. My parents left me rather well off, and if I sit my NEWTs, I can pursue a career in the Ministry. A law enforcement sort of thing. Income is not a problem.”

“I am rather surprised Tobias hasn’t mentioned any of this to us,” Morticia mused aloud. “He isn’t planning to return to England as well, is he? I thought--”

“He doesn’t know,” Harry said. “And so far, at least, he won’t even consider returning. He feels there’s no reason to go back.”

“But he will,” Wednesday remarked. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”

“Then how do you know, my darling?” Morticia asked, frowning.

“Because he didn’t go to the Bermuda Triangle,” she replied with confidence. “It never even entered his mind when he was making his plans. He knows all about it, but hadn’t considered going there. There has to be a reason for that.”

“Well, he seems to be more than a little interested in Decadence,” Gomez said. “He may choose never to go back home.”

Wednesday smirked, but added nothing.

“So, you’ll finish high school here, then go to England?”

“Only with your blessing, sir,” Harry put in, glancing at Wednesday. She nodded at him and lifted her eyebrow at her father in question.

Gomez poured out four glasses of sherry, offered them around, then lifted his glass in a toast. “To your future happiness,” he said.


	14. Hospitality and Social Niceties

Chapter Fourteen  
Hospitality and Social Niceties

Lucius eyed the small owl balefully. It looked as though its trip across the Atlantic hadn’t been an easy one, though he’d chosen this particular owl for its stamina and resiliency. Perhaps it had been caught in a storm.

He jumped, startled, at the sharp hoot. Reaching out a reluctant hand, he pulled the message from its leg. He recognized his writing, and opened the message to verify it was the same one he’d attached a few days ago. The owl swooped off, most likely afraid Lucius would try to send another note. As it passed by the dining table, it left a white, watery gift from its feathered colon, no doubt to illustrate its feelings about the experience.

His stomach clenched as he re-read the message he’d sent to Severus. The owl hadn’t been very helpful; he couldn’t be sure if Severus had received the owl but refused to read the message or if the owl had never made it that far, to whichever haven Severus had found. He could feel the depression settle over him again. He should never have ignored the Patronus Severus had sent. He’d known he was being told where Severus was planning to go, and that he was expected to contact him, but had Severus expected him to reply right away? The delay could have upset Severus, and that would explain why Severus was now ignoring Lucius’ message. Tit for tat.

On the other hand, if Severus had never received the owl, he could still be waiting for a message from Lucius. It would cost him nothing to try again, and it really was important to speak to Severus.

His future might well depend on it.

So, now the shoe’s on the other foot, is it?

Lucius’ trial had not gone smoothly, but in the end, it was worth the efforts of his attorneys and all the money he’d spent on legal fees. The Gryffindors involved with testifying both for and against him had been very forgiving, now that the threat of the late Dark Lord and the Death Eaters were a thing of the past, and he’d gotten off scot-free, despite some of the more damaging testimony.

However, he’d never again be on the Board of Governors, much less have any other position in the Ministry. He could live the rest of his life clean-nosed, and still never regain the ground he’d once had. But if he could land that position with the Magical Embassy...

He had tried to call in favors. The powers-that-be, the ones who decided to what degree of nepotism they would go to fill that position of Foreign Magical Ambassador to Switzerland, were no longer impressed with Lucius. He was prepared to crawl for the appointment, but all of what he’d once used as bait to gain favors was gone. Sure, he still had money, but he wouldn’t for long at this rate. And money wasn’t going to be enough to lure certain officials. He needed something more.

He’d tested the air while interviewing with Harold Rayving, the executive officer who would ultimately decide who would fill the post. He’d known of Rayving’s desire to find a research expert for another post, one in the Division of Sciences, and he knew Rayving had always been impressed with the studies Severus had published in the British Journals of Scientific Studies. If he could be allowed to let it slip to Rayving that Severus was indeed still alive, that he might accept such a post...if Lucius was also on the ticket...

But all that conjecture was pointless if he couldn’t reach Severus. Crumpling the unread message and tossing it into the fireplace, he headed out to the gardens, where the small owlery was kept, and searched for another sturdy beast. The still-upset tawny he’d sent with the last message pointedly turned his back on Lucius and fluffed his tail feathers. Lucius bypassed him, reaching for the eagle owl instead. He’d have to send it to Greenland first, allowing it to rest up before continuing onward to New York. From there, it could rest anywhere necessary on its way to California. It would take a bit longer this way, but his message would certainly get through in the end.

 

Macnair eyed the grounds, certain no one was left in the house. He’d watched as the gaunt driver chauffeured an old lady, a middle-aged couple, and a young boy away. Soon after, the blonde woman had pulled up in another car, then drove away with Snape, Potter, and a young woman. As far as he could tell, that was the lot of them.

He made his way around the back of the house, looking half-heartedly for an open window. Occam’s razor. Why break in if an inviting ingress was provided? But the approaching winter season was in the air, and he didn’t really expect to find an easy way in.

He stepped up to the back porch, peering into the window to the kitchen. No movement inside, so he tested the window. It opened easily, to his surprise. Being as quiet as he could be, in case there was anything inside that would be alerted to his entry, he climbed inside and stood looking around, waiting for any sign of life within. All was quiet.

He began moving through the room, ignoring all the strange cooking vessels. It looked more like a lab than a kitchen, but he wasn’t interested in food. Where would Snape’s room be?

He moved through a solarium of sorts, then froze at what his eyes were showing him. There was a...a plant? It was in the corner, and it seemed to be beckoning him closer. Before he could think twice, his feet were moving him a few curious but cautious steps closer. The plant had quite a reach, and he felt the flesh of his arm tear as the growth snapped viciously at him. He lunged backwards, scrambling away as the carnivorous flower tried again. He stopped when he reached the far end of the room, when there was nowhere else to flee, and watched in amazement as the flower returned to its upright position, spreading its many leaves as if posing for him. He glanced to his side at the suit of armor in the corner. It lifted its arm to its visor, as if saluting him, then returned to its original, motionless state.

Macnair bolted from the room, breathing deeply to calm himself. He found a staircase leading up to a landing. Two more sets of stairs sprouted from it, and he chose the one on the left. Moving to each closed door, he peered into the rooms, looking for any sign that Snape slept here. The first was obviously the boy’s bedroom; he saw what was no doubt a stolen stop sign leaning up against the wall, the unmade bed, a pair of shoes tossed carelessly about.

He entered the second room. It was tidy, and the brush and comb set on the vanity table, as well as a few cosmetics, revealed the taste of a female. Probably the young woman he’d seen with Potter.

He couldn’t open the third door. Concentrating, he detected wards in place. This is where young Potter stopped, presumably. He stored that knowledge away for future use. He had a score to settle with the young wizard, but first things first. He’d come here for Snape, and he would put his focus on him this time around. He could always find Potter later; it was hard for such a celebrity to remain hidden, if that’s what he was trying for.

He left the wing, returning to the landing and moving up the right-sided staircase. Opening the first door, he noted the rack with pillows and bedsheets. Frowning, he took in the restraints in place on the bedposts, and he looked over the rest of the room. He tried not to think why there were manacles and shackles attached to the far wall, and he forced his glance away from the instruments of torture hanging on a designer framework on the wall. Was this a bedroom or an interrogation cell?

He pulled the door closed and opened the one across the hall. It consisted only of an aluminum bed frame, covered by a bare and thin mattress. No pillow. Opening the door across the room, he saw hanging garments, all black suits and white shirts. The chauffeur’s room, then. He returned to the hallway, and moved to the next door.

He leaned in, almost afraid to enter, then pulled back out quickly at the sound of shuffling somewhere behind him. Looking around the hallway, his ears strained to any sound, he heard nothing more. His imagination was beginning to get to him. Peeking back into the room, he saw a table against the wall, potions bottles, power tools, and--was that dynamite?--large mouse traps lined up in neat array.

There was a bed against the far wall, whose mattress had seen better days. It sunk low in the middle, and the duvet gave off a musty odor he could detect even at this distance from it. It didn’t smell like Snape, so Macnair pulled back into the hallway to move to the next door.

Again, that faint scrabbling sound came from somewhere behind him. He turned quickly, looking for a cat, or even a rat. There was nothing. He pushed open the door to this last room in the wing, but could only see a large bed and wardrobe inside before the door slammed in his face. He pushed his ear against the door, listening for sounds of movement inside. Nothing. He bent to the floor, pushing his face close to the small margin of space under it, and took a deep breath. He could smell dust and herbs. Similar to the odor from the kitchen, and he suspected it was the old lady’s room. Where then, would Snape’s room be?

He turned, heading back to the landing, looking around uncertainly. He eyed the large portrait gracing the wall, then on impulse, he pulled at its frame. Grinning in triumph, he opened the hidden door and climbed the rickety stairs to another wing.

He could feel the presence of magic immediately. This had to be Snape’s domain. Wards were everywhere. Pulling out his wand, he tried to disengage them, to no avail. If Snape needed such powerful wards against his hosts, he must indeed be up to no good, and Macnair’s spirits lifted once again, prepared to physically break down the doors, if need be. It was a Muggle structure, after all, and the magical wards could not be expected to work quite as well as they would on a magical building.

He pulled open a surprisingly unwarded door at the end of the hall, and found himself in a chamber, devoid of anything but the chains over his head. He stood in indecision under them, looking up, then reached up to pull one.

The floor disappeared from under him, and his scream was loud in his own ears as it echoed off the slick walls he was slipping past. He twisted until he was sliding on his backside, down a long and curving surface, hoping against hope he wasn’t heading for an incinerator.

Suddenly, he shot out of the enclosure, sensing open air in the darkness around him, then landed painfully on his arse. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he could smell the stagnant odor of a swamp, and he could hear the faint sound of water splashing gently against wood. He squinted, finally able to make out the water ahead of him, and he moved to the edge of the dock for a better look.

He backed away quickly, seeing something moving silently in the murky water. It had looked large, and he felt for his wand. Yelling out in surprise and fear, he realized he’d backed up too far, and he fell off the dock, down into the water. He scrambled for the dock again, but he felt something grip the back of his trousers, the powerful, hot breath of whatever it was gusting over his wet back.

The beast lifted him high into the air, then he felt himself being thrown forcefully over the swamp, watching the wall of what looked like a cave coming closer and closer to him. He felt the painful thud of impact, and his world went black.

 

Severus leaned closer to Decadence. “May I persuade you to take a stroll through the garden with me? I’m in need of some fresh air.”

She grinned. “Admit it, Tobias. You can’t stand crowds of people around you.”

“True. I’m barely acquainted with the Smythes and their associates, and they do tend to be reminiscent of some of my former, hoi polloi colleagues, who had also tried to pass themselves off as the local gentry.” It was the truth, he thought. This party had the remembered atmosphere of the gatherings he’d been more or less been forced to attend in his Death Eater days, whenever Malfoy had felt the need to rub elbows with the powerful wizards of that old world. It had always bothered Snape that the rabble of those days pretended to be so noble, when their backgrounds were as common as Snape’s own. That they had been able to carry it off and Snape hadn’t still upset him.

“I would love a walk through the gardens,” Decadence said, accepting Snape’s arm. He led her out through the terrace door, where the crisp autumn evening began to blow away the cobwebs in his brandy-befuddled head.

There wasn’t much of a moon tonight, and so he kept his eyes on the path to make sure he wouldn’t cause either of them to trip on unforeseen obstacles. The garden opened up a bit further on, and he and Decadence stopped by the large fountain, admiring the cascading waterfall and the clear water in the basin, lit from within by hidden bulbs.

She tugged on his arm, and he followed her to the trees bordering the property line. The sound of the fountain was muted now, and he couldn’t hear the voices from within the house anymore. He leaned against a tree, appreciating the quiet beauty around them. They seemed to be in their own world now, and for the first time this evening, he felt himself relaxing.

She leaned against him, pressing her lips lightly to his. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer and enjoying her warmth. His body hardened in response to her proximity, and he shifted his hips, pushing against her. She moaned softly and nibbled his throat, and he felt his heartbeat quicken. The sound of quiet, rumbling thunder sounded in the distance, and he inhaled, smelling her intoxicating perfume, the clean scent of her hair, and a hint of rain in the air.

She ground her hips against his hardness, making his breath catch in his chest, but with the tree against his back, he couldn’t pull back unless he pushed her away from him. As she trailed a row of kisses down his neck, pulling open the collar of his shirt to expose his upper chest, he darted a look toward the house. He could barely make it out from this distance, and she felt so good pressed against him...

The thunder sounded again, following a quick flash of lightning. They’d be soaked soon if they didn’t head back to the house, but Decadence had opened his shirt, and her mouth and hands were doing things to his flesh that he felt no real compulsion to end. He gripped her shoulders tightly as she reached down to cup him through his trousers, rubbing, fondling, and he heard the slightly unsteady waver in his answering groan.

He moved his legs apart to steady himself; his knees were feeling as though they’d buckle at any time. She misunderstood his actions and pressed more insistently against him. “Don’t stop me, Tobias,” she murmured against his chest. “You’re beginning to make me feel unattractive.”

“Never think it, Decadence,” he rasped out. “I find you immensely alluring, and the only reason I haven’t ravished you is because I was trying to convince you I’m a gentleman.”

“I don’t want a gentleman tonight. I want a beast.” So saying, she deftly undid his fly. He gasped out as her hand stroked him, feeling the rough bark against his back as his knees finally gave way, and he slid down an inch or two against the tree. He reached out to her, his hands on her dress. The next crash of thunder drowned out the sound of the fabric tearing as he exposed her bared breasts to the now-falling rain. He smoothed the wet drops into her skin, feeling her hard nipples against the palms of his hands.

She tugged hard at his trousers, pulling him deeper into the trees, where they were sheltered from most of the rain. As the lightning and thunder came down on the world outside their sanctuary, she fell to the ground, and he covered her body with his. He tasted the rain on her lips, felt the vibrations of her moaning deep in her throat, and they moved frantically with and against each other in their need.

She gripped his hips with her legs, guiding his cock to her. As she rubbed the sensitive head over her wet opening, he gave up all pretense of civility and pushed hard. He felt her inner muscles grip him, accepting him, stretching for him, and the thunder crashing down around them felt as if it were coming from deep inside him. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, pinning him to her, and he felt his body take over. He thrust in and out of her, in and out, no rational thought needed or possible, when he felt her shift her own hips until they were moving together more rhythmically.

Suddenly, he was caught up in a wave of sensation, and his breath chuffed hoarsely in and out of his chest as the tingling in his sac spread out all over his body. Her moaning and whimpering against his ear propelled his movements, and as the storm raged around them, he let himself go, allowing his normally repressed auditory excitement full rein. His rasping words seemed to let loose the wild animal in her, and he felt her nails ripping furrows over his back as her spasms stroked him to madness.

He shouted out his ecstasy as he came, his final thrusts into her harsh and primitive. One last lunge, then his body locked up, frozen as her hot cunt squeezed the last of his semen from him. The thunder was quieter now, the storm moving away. He felt a slight trembling deep inside him as his body began to relax, and he rested himself on his elbows as he lay over her.

Catching his breath, he looked into her eyes. She was smiling up at him, content. He answered her smile with his own. “Yes, Decadence, I find you very attractive.”

She laughed, wriggling under him. He reluctantly pulled out of her, and began adjusting his clothes. Looking up at her, he saw her holding her destroyed bodice together. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to... That is, I wasn’t thinking clearly...”

“Don’t worry, Tobias,” she said, cutting him off. “It was very exciting, and I have other clothes at home. I certainly wouldn’t have changed a single minute of this evening.”

“I suppose you could wear my shirt, but we couldn’t go back to the party.”

“I don’t want to go back. No one will miss us; why don’t we just go back to my place?”

“Don’t forget Potter and Wednesday came with us. They’ll have no means to get home if we leave now.”

“Well, let me borrow your shirt then, and we’ll round them up.”

“It will be obvious why you’re wearing my shirt,” he said. “You don’t mind?”

“No, they’re grown-ups. Do you mind that they’ll know?”

“Kind of. I would much rather keep my private life private. Potter already knows much more about me than I care for.”

“Well, at any rate, we should both get out of these wet clothes.”

They slowly headed out of the trees, past the fountain, toward the house. Skirting the drive to head toward where Decadence had parked her car, something on the driveway, lit by the light from the parlor window, caught Severus’ eye. He picked it up, recognizing Potter’s Scarab monitor. He turned it on, ignoring the questioning look in Decadence’s eye. There was a blip in the center of the screen. Potter must have the Scarab on his person. But why was the screen blue? Or was it purple? A very vivid blue, he decided. What did that mean? He strained his memory... red signified danger, green meant a search...blue? Ah yes, blue meant happiness, contentment. He looked up toward the bushes, recognizing the same moaning sound that had so recently come from his own vocal cords.

The bushes were moving, and he quickly led Decadence away, toward the parked cars. “Why don’t we just wait in the car for them?” he suggested.

“How will they know we want to leave?” she asked. “You’ll have to go back into the house to find them. Here, take your shirt back.”

“No need. We’ll catch them when they come out of the bushes.”

“You mean...?”

“Yes, I do. Do try to keep a straight face, will you? We’ll all pretend they went in there for tea.”


	15. Trapped Hunter

Chapter Fifteen  
Trapped Hunter

Severus opened his eyes slowly, concentrating on the hint of whining he could barely hear. He held his breath, then turned his head toward his night table. Hoisting himself up on one elbow, he leaned closer to the table. Yes, it sounded as though a radio was tuned to a talk-show frequency, the volume too low to make out the words. It could have been his imagination, but the words broke off, then started again, seeming to call his name.

Forcing his not-quite-awake eyes to focus on the objects on his night table, he realized what the noise was. He pushed himself to a sitting position, then reached for his wallet. He opened it, blinking at Albus, who was irritatingly cheerful at such an ungodly early hour.

“Albus, why do you insist on waking me from such a pleasant dream in the middle of the night?”

“Middle of the night? Even with the eight-hour time difference, it’s time for you to start your day. I’ve never known you to sleep in.”

Severus looked out the window. It was an overcast day, and he felt he could be forgiven for having overslept. It had been quite a party at the Smythes’ and the rest of the family were probably all nursing hangovers. No wonder the house was so still.

“It’s barely dawn here, Albus. Is there a problem?”

“I’ve just spoken to Lucius Malfoy. He came to see Minerva, convinced she knew where you were. He seemed so desperate to reach you, I just had to speak up. I didn’t tell him anything, of course, didn’t agree you were still alive and well, but he seemed to know already.”

“Yes, I had sent him my Patronus shortly after the war. I rather thought he wanted nothing to do with me, as he’d never answered.”

“He seems to have had a change of mind. Perhaps your Patronus never reached him.”

“It would have returned to me in that case. He received it; he just ignored the message. Did he say why it was so urgent I be contacted?”

“Something to do with both your futures, but he didn’t elaborate. Doesn’t he know you’re out of things now?”

“I have no way of knowing what’s going through his mind, Albus. If he’s trying to help Macnair in any way--”

“He mentioned Macnair as someone you should be on the lookout for. When he left, after receiving no information from either Minerva or me, he implored us to make sure you knew about Macnair.”

“I’ve seen no trace of that henchman. I am on my guard, never worry.”

“How’s Harry doing? Any word about him returning home soon? He’s missing out on his education.”

“I suspect he’s getting quite an education here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind, Albus. It’s nothing Hogwarts could ever teach him, I would think.”

“His friends have been asking about him. Do remind him to write home now and then, would you?”

“I’ll do that.”

After promising to open his wallet more often, Severus finally closed it, then got out of bed and pulled on his clothes. He was planning to have Wednesday take a final test today, covering all things academic that she could expect at her examination the school board would set for her. If she scored well on the test he administered to her, he would send her progress report to the officials and schedule her test date. She could graduate as early as November.

He wandered down to the kitchen, where the old hag was brewing something in her largest vat over the fireplace. He picked up the Muggle newspaper someone had left on the table and began reading. The hag--he could never think of her as _Maman_ \--came over to hand him a cup of coffee. He smiled his thanks, inserting a spoon in the unrealistic hope that he could stir it, then gave up and tipped the cup to his lips, urging a manageable amount into his mouth. It tasted like coffee, but had the viscosity of syrup. _Well, better coffee than tea._ If he were to lose his taste for a beverage, he didn’t want it to be the tea he made for himself whenever the hag left the room.

A movement at the corner of his peripheral vision caught his eye, and he watched with jaded eyes as Thing hopped to the table and began playing with a lump of sugar. He quickly rolled up the newspaper and brought it down hard on the disembodied hand, flattening it. Thing dragged itself to the edge of the table, then fell to the floor, where Snape watched it hobble out of the room.

Harry appeared in the doorway, leaping over Thing as he came into the room. _“That’s_ Thing? The one I’ve heard so much about?”

“The one and only,” Severus replied. “I hope.”

“He seems harmless enough. Why did he give you such horrible nightmares?” He accepted his cup of sludge from the old lady and settled into the chair across the table from Severus.

“Don’t go there, Potter. Where’s your girlfriend? She has to sit an exam today.”

“I know, she told me. I heard her moving about in her room, so she’ll probably be down shortly. If she passes her test today, how long before she’ll get her diploma?”

“It all depends on how quickly the school board works. I predict early November, but that may be a bit optimistic.”

“We’re planning on going to England as soon as she graduates.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Why? You have a problem with us being together?”

“Not at all. If you survived Bellatrix Lestrange and Voldemort himself, you might just survive Wednesday, too.”

“She’s not like them. She’s very sw... She’s...”

“You can’t say it, can you? You were trying to say ‘sweet’, but your honest Gryffindor mouth couldn’t form the word.”

“Well, she’s no Bellatrix Lestrange, either.”

“True. Bellatrix was insane. Wednesday knows exactly what she’s doing.”

“And what’s she doing?”

Snape grinned. Young love. Why should he ruin it for Potter? And who’s to say she wasn’t exactly what Potter needed anyway?

He was spared from answering when Lurch came into the kitchen. The tall spook stopped at Severus’ side and rumbled out his words. “Visitor. Cornered by Kitty-cat. Called for a snape. Hysterical. What’s a snape?”

Snape inhaled sharply. A visitor? Calling him by his real name? _It could only be..._ “Take me to him, Lurch.” He followed Lurch out of the room, not even caring that Potter, the interfering Gryffindor, rose to trail after the both of them.

Lurch led them to a room off the library, down a dark hallway, then stopped at the end of it, gesturing toward a large hole in the wall near the floor. Severus stooped to look inside. He backed away quickly, bumping into Potter, and they both fell to the floor.

“What’s wr--?” Potter’s words were cut off by the loud roar from the hole. “Was that a _lion_?” he asked.

“Mm-hm.” It was all Severus could manage.

“Kitty-cat,” Lurch supplied. He stooped over, reaching his arm into the hole, and as he persuaded the lion to come out into the hallway, Severus scrambled backward, pushing Potter against the wall opposite. He watched in amazement as Lurch moved farther from the hole, the lion purring and rubbing his face against the man’s knees. “Go in. Kitty-cat stays with me.”

“Right. I’ll do that. Love to.”

He peered nervously back into the hole, his ears alert for any sound of movement from the lion, and focused on the trembling mass on the other side of the feline dwelling. Macnair was in the corner, pressing back as if to push himself through the wall and whatever safety he might find on the other side, the whites of his eyes showing clearly through the gloom.

“Welcome to the Addams family, Macnair. Cup of tea?”

 

Harry returned to his room, leaving Snape to take care of Macnair. He was still shaken about ‘Kitty-cat’ and was in no mood to deal with Macnair’s histrionics. It was poetic justice, anyway. Let the hunter now be the hunted.

He sat at the desk, reaching for some paper and a pen to write to Hermione. He’d mentioned Wednesday to Ron in his last letter, so he knew Hermione would have been told by now about his relationship with the young Addams woman, but he wanted to bring her up to date on their plans.

Before he closed off, he asked her to sound McGonagall out about his plans to come back to Hogwarts in time for the second term. If he could somehow catch up on what he’d missed, would he have a hope of sitting his NEWTs successfully? How much would his life achievements count toward a more formal education? Or should he give up on Auror training altogether?

He sealed the letter in an envelope, addressing it to Ron at the Burrow, with a separate letter to Mrs. Weasley to ask her to forward it to Hogwarts via owl. Putting the letter aside for later posting, he sat back and wondered how Wednesday was doing with her exam. He shuddered, remembering his own Snape-testing experiences.

 

“I don’t understand,” Gomez said. “This is a wanted man? He came here specifically looking for you?”

“He’s wanted by the Ministry of Magic in the United Kingdom for crimes against the people, yes. He came here to settle a grudge. I suspect he was after Potter as well, but I was his main target.”

“And will you send for those people to come get him? Is that how this is going to happen?”

“That’s what I’m trying to avoid,” Severus said. “I don’t want the Ministry or anyone else in the UK to know I’m here.”

“How will you keep him from telling everyone he found you here?”

“Well, there is a way, but then he’d not be fit to testify on his own behalf at his trial. I could Obliviate him, but it’s illegal, and if anyone were to find out it was I who did it, I’d be in almost as much trouble as he is.”

“What’s that? Obliviate?”

“It’s a spell that would remove at least some of his memories. Rather unpredictable, for the most part. There’s very little control over which memories would be lost. And if his memories of his past deeds go missing, there would be no point in taking him back for trial anyway.”

“I can see why it’s illegal. So, aren’t there any other means of keeping him quiet?”

“None I can think of.”

“You’re planning on another major change, aren’t you?” Gomez asked. “Another new name? New face? New life?”

“I can’t keep running,” Severus said wistfully. “There will always be a Macnair out there.”

“If you were to just release him, perhaps he was so shaken up by Kitty-cat’s welcome that he’d leave you alone.”

“I can’t just release him. As soon as he recovered from his experience here, he’d start in all over again. He’s not intelligent enough to remember his fear for long. Besides, for him to get away with his past crimes...” Severus stopped, feeling hypocritical. The Ministry had exonerated him from his own crimes, albeit it happened after they’d thought he was dead. Despite the reason for his involvement with the Death Eaters, and his motives in murdering Dumbledore, he felt they’d been magnanimous in pardoning him. Was he really any better than Macnair, though?

“So,” Gomez was saying, “you have to decide then, do you want a new life more than you want this man brought to justice? Or are you ready to return to your old life?”

“That’s what it all boils down to,” he admitted. “I can’t make a decision now; this is going to require a lot of soul-searching. Is Macnair all right where he is for a while?”

“Yes, my mother will see to his meals, Lurch will see to his comfort, and Fester has agreed to spend time with him, just talking, making sure the man doesn’t go insane. It has been known to happen, though we can’t quite figure out why.”

Macnair had been relegated to a room, more of a cell, really, just opposite Severus’ rooms. He seemed comfortable enough when Severus had looked in on him, though still more or less speechless. It couldn’t have been just the lion, Snape thought. What had happened between the time he’d come into the house and the time Lurch had found him playing with Kitty-cat? They might never know.

Gomez was just lifting his tea to take a sip when the cup was shot out of his hand by the projectile that had zoomed in through the kitchen window. It stopped just short of crashing into the far wall, landing gracefully on the back of the chair at the table. Snape recognized it as Malfoy’s eagle owl, and he reached out for the note attached to its leg. At last, the long-awaited letter!

“Ah, we’d hoped something like this would happen,” Gomez said, brushing the spattered tea from his lapel. “The last time an owl flew into the house with a message, Venus tried to eat him. Sorry about that, old man.”

“Quite all right, Gomez. It’s a relief to know he’d sent a message after all. If you’ll excuse me, I think I might have an idea about how to deal with Macnair.”

He gave the owl a small rodent he nabbed from the old lady’s stash, then encouraged it to hop on his arm, taking it with him to his rooms. He’d let the owl rest for a while, giving him a chance to work out the details of his plan. Then, he’d send a return message to Malfoy and hope for the best.


	16. For the Greater Good

Chapter Sixteen  
For the Greater Good

“Pugsley, sit in the chair.”

“Why? We don’t play together anymore.”

“You know I’m leaving home soon. This will be our last chance. Don’t you want to play...one last time?”

“Does that mean you graduated?”

“Yes, that messenger this morning delivered my diploma. My transcripts are already on their way to London.” She began strapping him to the arms and legs of the electric chair, then fitted the cap over his scalp. “Stop fidgeting.”

“Can I come to England sometimes to visit you?”

“If you like. When you’re on vacation from school, I suppose. And sometimes Harry and I will come back to visit home, too. Here, bite down on this.” She put the metal bit between his teeth.

“Are you and Harry getting married?”

“Someday. Probably.” She pulled the sponge out of the water from the bucket next to the chair, wringing it out and fitting it on Pugsley’s head under the skull-cap.

“Will you have babies?” He struggled to get the words out without upsetting the placement of the bit in his mouth.

“Could be.” She moved to the wall and pulled down a large switch. The hum of electricity moved through the room, and she paused. “It will need to warm up, first. We haven’t used it in a long time.”

“Then I’ll be an uncle, right? Will you let me play with the kids, like Uncle Fester used to play with us?”

“Only if you promise not to climb up to my roof and howl.”

“Isn’t that what uncles do?”

“Only some uncles. But even if Uncle Fester himself came to see me in London, I wouldn’t let him on my roof. I never did like the howling. Make sure you keep quiet when I pull this next switch. You know how sensitive my hearing is.”

“Okay. Besides, you know I’m not a screamer.”

“Ready?” Before he could reply, Wednesday pulled down the switch, watching the arc of electricity flow between the two switches. She could trace the path as the charge rode through the old, worn, heavy cables that littered the floor on the way over to the chair.

“Pugsley? Wednesday? What are you doing?” Morticia’s voice preceded her through the doorway.

“Basic Electronic Development, Mother. Pugsley is helping me with my research.”

Morticia came into the room, watching as her son’s eyes bulged, seeing his fingers turn into claws, and his entire body seizing up. “I thought your schoolwork was finished, my darling.”

“This is independent study, Mother. Education never stops.”

The bit in Pugsley’s mouth shot across the room and his hips arched away from his seat as Wednesday moved the switches back to the up position. The heavy smell of ozone was in the air and she moved to the chair. She picked up a wooden spatula and poked at her brother. He looked up at her silently, exhausted.

She began undoing his restraints, and Morticia felt his forehead. She urged open his mouth and checked his tongue. “Nicely done, Wednesday. He hasn’t bitten through it this time.”

“I think I finally worked out the bugs.” She helped Pugsley to stand, and watched as he tested the strength of his legs. She politely ignored the spreading stain at the front of his trousers. “You might want to freshen up, Pugsley. It’s almost dinnertime.”

He looked at her, then nodded. “Basic Electronic Development, you say?”

“Yes, and you’ve done well, Pugsley. Now you can tell your friends that you’re good in B.E.D.”

He held onto the chair as he passed it, then lunged for the table near the door. It would take a while for his muscles to respond properly, but this was something he was used to, she knew. He was such a trouper. Her most resilient and hearty research assistant. She glanced out the window, where she could see the family cemetery, thinking of all the ones who hadn’t had as much stamina.

“You’ve completed your application to the University of London?” Morticia asked.

“I have. I should know soon after we arrive whether or not I’m accepted. If not, there are other universities.”

“It seems like only yesterday I was teaching you to walk, to talk, to conjure...”

“Are you sorry I didn’t turn out to be a witch, Mother?”

“Of course not,” she replied. “I only tried to teach witchcraft to you because _Maman_ insisted. She seems to think it skips a generation, but I think that’s merely superstition.”

“It could be that my children will be witches and wizards,” Wednesday added thoughtfully. “If Harry is their father, that is.”

“What wonderful news that would be,” Morticia said wistfully. “Would you resent them for it? I know you’d always wished you were magical.”

“I think just being a part of that world would be good enough for me. I’m really looking forward to it.”

“Wednesday... If things don’t work out with Harry in the long run...”

“Yes?”

“You will come back home, won’t you?”

“But, Mother, I think I _will_ be home. You know I never fit in here. And should something come between Harry and me... well, there are other wizards out there.”

Morticia smiled sadly. Her daughter was not a child anymore, and she would just have to learn to let go. “Make sure you send pictures often, and call. It would make it seems as if you’re not so far away.”

“Of course, Mother. We’re not going to the Bermuda Triangle, after all.”

“Ah, the Bermuda Triangle. I do hope you’re not trying to convince Harry to take you there.”

Wednesday smiled enigmatically.

 

Severus stretched his legs out unobtrusively as he waited for the train. It had been a long flight, and he still felt apprehensive about being back in England. A lot depended on Malfoy now, and his last message only revealed he was willing to discuss matters with him. Nothing about why he so needed Severus’ cooperation. Being just as cagey as Malfoy, Severus didn’t tell him why he was returning, but only mentioned a quid pro quo agreement would be necessary for either of them to proceed with their individual plans.

As the train stopped before them, he lingered behind, giving Potter and Wednesday a chance to board before he ushered Macnair ahead of him. They found an empty compartment, and Severus closed the door to it behind him, pulling down the shade. He didn’t want anyone else coming in. It would be a long ride to the Malfoy Manor, but Lucius had promised to put them up for the night.

This one last stretch of travel before they could all finally collapse.

As Wednesday snuggled against Potter and nodded off to sleep, Potter picked up his book and lost himself in its pages. Severus glanced at Macnair and said, “Go to sleep.” Macnair obediently closed his eyes, allowing his head to slump forward. Severus nudged him until he was wedged against the wall, so he wouldn’t fall to the floor. He opened his satchel and drew out the photos Potter had taken of the Addamses with his camera. Decent magical photos. He began to look them over, one by one.

Morticia and Gomez had posed together, and he watched as Gomez, standing behind Morticia, nibbled at her neck. He eyed the serene and confident smile on Morticia’s face, and smiled back as her hand lifted to ward off Gomez. Gomez, undeterred, moved to her other shoulder and started kissing his way back up to her neck. He watched the scene, over and over, already missing Decadence.

Putting that photo to the back of the small stack, he looked at the next one. Decadence smiled into the camera, not knowing all her movements would be seen. He watched in amusement as she fumbled with her hair, trying to smooth it over to look her best for the photo. She grinned, then pursed her lips in a kiss. He felt his visceral response, remember how her lips felt on various parts of his body, then moved that photo to the back of the stack before he could embarrass himself, should Potter look up from his book.

The next photo showed Pugsley and Fester, both with light bulbs in their mouths. Fester’s was flashing off and on, but Pugsley’s stayed unlit. The boy looked a bit different than when Severus had first met him. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was a subtle change there. Like always, he avoided looking straight at Fester. He’d seen more attractive trolls, and there was something about the grin that unnerved him. Not in the same way Wednesday’s smile affected him, but something associated more with what grew under rocks and in stagnant ponds.

Lurch looked at him impassively from the next photo, blinking once. The man probably played a great game of poker, and if Severus would ever see him smile, it might provoke worse nightmares than Thing.

Speaking of which... There it was, on the last photo. As Severus watched, Thing danced around the table in a parody of the old soft shoe routines, then rolled over on its back, curling its fingers into a ball just before it flipped its middle finger up at him. A surprised Severus burst out laughing, pulling Potter’s attention from his book. Severus silently handed over the pictures so Potter could see what was so amusing.

Potter watched Thing for a while, then grinned. “Are you ever going to tell me why you had such a loathing for Thing?”

“No, Potter, it would be easier to face the idea of you poking around in my Pensieve once again. Suffice it to say that I’m glad I won’t be running into that hand again.”

“You’re not planning to go back, are you? You’re definitely staying here?”

“Nothing is definite yet. I’ll stay on this side of the ocean, but I’m not sure where yet. Or how. I might need a new identity, or I might get help from Malfoy in order to keep my own. It all depends on the next few hours’ discussion with Malfoy.”

“Be honest, Severus. Just this once, stop thinking of me as James’ son and the albatross around your neck. You want to stay here, don’t you? This is where you belong.”

Severus took back the photos, offering Potter the semblance of a smile. “That remains to be seen, Potter.”

“So, it depends on what kind of help you hope to get from Malfoy, but also whether or not Decadence joins you here?”

“What makes you think Decadence and I have a future together?”

“Because I saw her wearing your shirt the night of the Smythes’ party. I just can’t believe someone with your anti-social ways would get involved with a woman to the degree you and Decadence were without hoping it will be forever.”

Severus narrowed his eyes at Potter, then stared out the window. Some things just weren’t good to think about until decisions have been made.

 

Severus held his tongue until Potter and Wednesday excused themselves from the dinner table, thanking Narcissa and Lucius for their generous hospitality. They left the room, heading to what Severus knew would be an exquisitely furnished guest room, where they would no doubt collapse and sleep through until morning.

He turned to Macnair to see he was still slowly nibbling on his dinner, then glanced at Lucius. Getting the message immediately, Lucius began dropping hints to Narcissa that it was time she headed on up to bed as well. The business end of this gathering was about to begin, and such matters were nothing that wives should worry about.

Narcissa, used to this dismissive treatment, was already halfway out the door. Lucius turned to Severus. “Why is he so passive? Confundus?”

“Imperious. It’s a relief for him, actually. While under its influence, he’s not having nightmares about his adventures in America. Why don’t we begin by your telling me what you need my cooperation for?”

“You know the only reason the Ministry dropped charges against me is because I persuaded them I could once again be a contributing force to this government. Although I’m persona non grata at the Ministry per se, there is a position open in the Embassy I’m perfectly suited for. But nepotism being what it is, the only chance I have at it is if you’re part of the package.

“You remember Rayving? He’s the one who’d sent you all those petitions to have you come aboard as part of the scientific research attaché. He’s still very much interested, and, as you need a source of income anyway...”

“What makes you think I’d be interested in remaining here?”

“Once Macnair goes to trial, it will become public knowledge that you survived Nagini. Do you propose to live your life in hiding after that?”

Severus was playing devil’s advocate. He knew there’d be no anonymity in his future. He could learn more about this position and start his real future, or he could delude himself into thinking his home was in America. “Tell me more, Lucius.”

He watched Malfoy’s eyes light up, and was at once aware of how important the Embassy position was to him. He would regain some of his lost prestige, the family’s wealth would be assured, and things could get back to some semblance of normalcy for all of them.

As he listened to the job description Lucius was providing him, he began to feel hope. It was something that would bring him recognition, finally, for his success in Potions. He would gain the respect that had so long been denied him, and in such a position of power and honor, he could even imagine the dark stain that covered his past life might just begin to recede with time...

“Which brings us to what you’d like from me in return, Severus. Name it. I think you’ll find I’m more amenable to help you out now than I’ve ever been in the past.”

“I want you to hand Macnair over to the Ministry. I don’t want my name mentioned until Macnair himself provides his testimony. By then, if things work out, I’ll already be in position with Rayving’s staff, and hopefully, above impeachment.”

“You’ll do it then?” It was almost painful to see the hope in Malfoy’s eyes.

“Well, the Ministry had just awarded me the Order of Merlin, First Class. I would hope they’d not be so quick to rescind the honor, once they find out I’m alive to acknowledge it. Albus has already offered to be interviewed about his death and my part in it. I have my experience and skills in Potions to justify the new career. It seems everyone should be happy. I can think of no reason to turn it down. Will you contact Rayving for me? I don’t want to remove the Imperius before my position is secured.”

“I’ll contact him immediately. Perhaps he’ll meet with you as early as the morning. We’ll keep Macnair hidden away until then. Once the job is yours, I’ll take Macnair to the Ministry and let them remove the Imperius.”

“Agreed.” They lifted their glasses to toast each other.

 

“Tish, did you see Pugsley on your way through the study? Was that a book he was reading?”

“Yes, indeed, Gomez. Did you catch the title?”

“I saw _Quantum Physics,_ but I’m sure he has a girlie magazine hidden in its pages.”

“No, my love. It’s the real thing. Our son has gained quite a bit of intelligence. We have Wednesday to thank for that. Remember when the lights dimmed the other day? They were up in the playroom with the electric chair again.”

“I thought--”

“No, she worked out the problems, and I think soon we’ll hear from Pugsley’s teachers that he’s ready to be re-integrated into the public school system.”

“Good for him! And good for Wednesday as well. Has she been accepted into the university?”

“It’s too soon for word about that.”

“Is she still considering Morbid Pathology? I would think something in the electronics field would be more fitting for her strengths.”

“As long as she’s happy, my love. Did you see the photos Harry left behind for us? They move. It’s like watching short videos.”

“I saw the one of Decadence and Tobias together. I thought for sure those two would hook up permanently. They were very affectionate before they realized the camera was aimed at them.”

“Don’t think it won’t happen, Gomez. Decadence has just left for the airport. She told me she gave up the lease on her apartment and turned in her resignation at work. She has every intention of staying in England with Tobias.”

“What if he doesn’t want her there?”

Morticia picked up the photo of the couple, showing it to Gomez. “Really, my love, is there any doubt in your mind?”

 

Severus opened the door to his new cottage, nestled in the highlands, wondering which dimwitted new neighbor thought it would be a good idea to welcome him to the area. His breath caught in his throat when his eyes registered the vision standing on his porch.

Decadence’s smile lit up her whole face, and her eyes were sparkling with that mischievous smile he chose to believe was flashed only at him. He opened the screen door, pulling her inside, crushing her delicate bones with his surprised and eager embrace.

“Ah, Tobias,” she said, between laughter, tears falling down her face. “I was so afraid you’d be upset I followed you.”

“I was going to send for you,” he told her. “I was preparing all my arguments against your wanting to stay in America. Getting my debate all ready to insist you’ll like it better here, that I’m the one you want in your life, that this is your new home.”

“No worries, there. Let’s get married.”

He laughed like a young, carefree boy, the sound foreign to his own ears. Him? A husband? The idea was so enticing, and so frightening for that very reason.

“I insist,” she said. “I want to be Mrs. Tobias Addams.”

He pulled her down to sit next to him on the sofa. “Before you make any decisions you’re likely to regret, there are some things you have to know about me. First of all...my name is not really Tobias Addams. It’s Severus Snape, and the reason I was using an alias is that...”

 

“So, what news did Severus have for you, Albus?” Minerva sipped her tea, watching the sparkle in Dumbledore’s eyes light up the portrait.

“He confirmed that all my planning was successful,” he said coyly.

“Is it safe to ask for details now? Seeing as how it didn’t blow up in your interfering face?”

“Don’t you see, Minerva? Severus had to have a reason to _want_ to return home. Free will. He’s marrying this Decadence woman, and she’s more than content to make her home here in Scotland. He has a prestigious post where his skills will be used and appreciated, and what’s more, publicly recognized. He’s realizing his future would not be the sneaking around, humble, and resentment-inducing life he’d had to lead before his alleged death.

“Not to mention what’s happening with Harry. He and Wednesday are off to a wonderful start, and I’m sure they’ll be marrying eventually. Probably when his Auror training is complete and she’s on her way to medical school. Macnair has been brought to justice and will be spending the rest of his days in Azkaban. But the main thing is, Severus came back because he _wanted_ to, not because he felt he had to. He could have arranged for Malfoy to go to America to collect Macnair, you know. He brought him back personally because he knew he’d be staying.”

“You’ve been avoiding the question I was too polite to ask, Albus. I remember mentioning a loophole you left yourself when you’d promised Severus you wouldn’t upset his plans. You said you’d do everything you could to see that his new life would be better than his old life. I want to know what you’d planned to do to make sure that happened.”

“I keep forgetting how well you know me,” he said, chuckling. “I was the one who arranged for the landlady of the inn in Hogsmeade to place Severus’ old school scarf under the wardrobe, where Macnair would be sure to spot it.”

“Albus, you didn’t! Was she aware of what she would suffer at Macnair’s hands when she agreed to do it? And how did you get to her, anyway?”

“That’s the inn my brother, Aberforth, once owned. My portrait was still there, in the office.”

“But you could have caused her death at that henchman’s hands!”

“Nonsense, Minerva. Macnair may be an animal, but he hasn’t killed anyone in the past over something as trivial as needing information. The only deaths he’s been known for were those sanctioned by the Ministry.”

“But then he went after Severus in America. How could you assume he wouldn’t have killed Severus? Or Harry, for that matter?”

“It was a reasonable risk, Minerva. Severus would never be so unwary as to be taken completely by surprise. And Harry wasn’t Macnair’s primary target. You know how single-mindedly he goes after his objectives; he wouldn’t have bothered Harry until after he’d dealt with Severus.”

“I can’t believe how manipulative you still are, Albus.”

“Well, Minerva, it was all for the Greater Good.”

She gave up.


End file.
